


La Petite Mort

by bun_o_ween



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, M/M, Mentions of Necrophilia, Mentions of Suicide, Slurs, dead bodies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 128,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bun_o_ween/pseuds/bun_o_ween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prostitute, a priest, and a story of salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Un

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look dudes, I elude to the fact that Charming is Vincent... and it is, but it's not actually Ciel's dad OK.

**December 31st, 1898.**

 

They say it’s the city of love.

Illuminated by the moon, Paris was alive with romanticism. The city was charming, even in the winter. Especially in the affluent neighbourhoods, where snow fell like dusted sugar over the pretty lamp-lit streets. Cobblestone glimmered under the stars. Violins flirted with every street corner. Abundant roses grew at each residence. Restaurants and shops lit up in a thousands lights stayed open late for the most important night of the year.

Celebrating patrons trickled out of bars by the dozen, draped in furs and laughter on their champagne scented tongues. Crystal glasses _clinked_ in unison. Excitement sparked in each Parisian’s heart as the new year drew closer, bated breath over fine wine. Diamonds caught on brass light fixtures. Lovers gazed across candlelit tables, stared out over the city with silken gloves entwined. Romance was not dead, but dancing.

And if it was true what they said of Paris, then the red-light district was the _heart_ of the city of love. The sleepy labyrinthine streets of the _antre du démon_ only woke when the sun came down. Then the bars would open, the drunks would follow. The cacophony of ungraceful house bands echoed down the crooked streets. 

The whores came out too. They wrapped themselves in tight, tacky fabric - corsets cinching in their waists and forcing their breasts to push up through their blouses. The ladies of the night pinched their cheeks to look the image of health, painted their lips with perfumed paint to mask the cheap liquor on their teeth, until their mouths were dark and wet with sweet promises. Prostitution was a profitable, _and legal_ business - if you were young, beautiful and willing.

On the outskirts of the infamous district was another neighbourhood. The slum was so close that the excitement from the bars echoed out over the night and in through the doorways of the dilapidated buildings. They held together with clothes lines and sheer luck. The little community was poor - bakers and workers who woke at the rise of dawn to toil. None were awake on new year’s eve, with no luxury for pleasure… _except for one_.

Ciel Phantomhive lived in a two-storey apartment next door to the funeral home. On a still day the smell of formaldehyde was forgivable - but the coffins stacked next door were an eyesore. The lower half of the building was a store room, leaving a habitable second floor for the eighteen year old whore. The apartment was hugged in ivy, roof sunken from heavy snow. It’s prettiest feature was the big, crooked window that faced the square.

Snowflakes landed on the bare toes of the boy, perched on the fat ledge of the window sill. He didn’t flinch at the cold, too immersed in the yellowed pages of the book that lay open in the palm of his hand. His hair brushed the tops of his collarbones as a bitter breeze whispered by. He tucked back his long hair, his single eye not missing a beat as he continued to read in dull lamplight. He ashed his cigarette against the wall and it fell down like snowflakes. From this high he could see the Eiffel Tower if he lifted his chin - but instead he turned the page of his novel.

In his peripheral, Ciel became aware of two men entering the square outside. Their footprints trailed behind them in the virgin snow. The teenager sighed, lifting his eye from the words and narrowing it at the strangers. He closed his book around his finger and crushed his cigarette into the window ledge. He dropped it’s body to the snow below and pointed his chin at the two men.

“Bonsoir,” he called. He kicked at the loose ivy and caught it between his toes. One of the men had a charming smile, but the other looked dismayed. Neither were ugly.

“We heard you might be able to show us a good time?” Called up the charming one. His voice echoed over the empty square and Ciel clicked his teeth.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” he said, like he was actually considering turning them down. The angry one slapped his friend’s arm and growled something beneath his breath. _I told you so_. Charming withdrew something from his expensive-looking fur coat, finger held up at Ciel to bate his argument. In one hand he produced a half-finished bottle of top shelf whiskey. In the other was a leather pouch that chimed with coins when he shook it back and forth.

“We want to celebrate,” he declared. His smile was outrageously handsome, and Ciel huffed at him. He opened his book and dog-eared the page to keep his place.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel gasped as his back hit the wall.

Charming’s mouth pressed into his ear, wet with whiskey. He smelt as rich as he looked, cologne on his collar. His wedding ring was cold on the boy’s side, hands untucking his shirt and pushing it further up his stomach. Ciel’s fingers curled into the back of the man’s dark hair, his head back and under arrest to the hungry kisses sucked onto his throat. From over Charming’s shoulder, he could see Angry - arms crossed and simmering as the two danced without him.

“What’s wrong with your friend?” Ciel murmured, eye unfocused as his shirt came off his body and he was lifted, his legs wrapping around Charming’s taller body. The older man cast a look at his friend, Ciel pressed to the wall - vest buttons leaving indents in the young thing’s flesh.

“Don’t you want to try him?” Charming’s mouth turned down at his friend. He grabbed Ciel’s thighs, squeezed roughly before plucking him from the wall. He carried him to Ciel’s bed, unkempt pale linen already crumpled before being thrown down onto the thin mattress. His teeth _clacked_ when he fell, a surprised gasp before Charming was kneeling over him. His fancy vest came apart with a few twists of his fingers. _Flick. Flick._ His shirt too, falling off his shoulders with a roll of his arms - landing betwixt the bedsheets of the same colour.

Ciel’s stomach twisted as Charming unbuttoned his trousers. The sound of his zip made the hairs on his arms raise, goosebumps kissed his lily skin. Angry watched from the door. He hadn’t moved the entire time. His face was hot with anger, and something else.

“Are you just going to watch?” Charming grinned, not taking his eyes off of Ciel. He tugged the boy’s trousers down his skinny hips, whistled low at how the teenager’s body looked in the dim light of his apartment. He left them wound around his thighs like a half unwrapped Christmas present. Ciel’s fingers twitched by his head, his hair still fanned out across the bedding in the same position as when he fell. His blush extended from his cheeks to his breast. Charming followed it with his fingers, then his tongue.

“It’s New Year’s Eve,” Angry said. He had a foreign accent that Ciel couldn’t place. His perpetually upset eyebrows knitted as he watched his friend touch the side of Ciel’s face. His thumb dragged over the fat swell of his lower lip and pushed into his mouth. Ciel bit him.

“Cute,” Charming muttered, eyes narrowed with bemusement. He leaned in closer and pushed his thumb past the trap of Ciel’s teeth and his pupils widened when Ciel’s tongue laved over the digit. Ciel hollowed his cheeks, half-closed his eye in the way he knew men liked. His hands didn’t move from beside his head - wrists up and vulnerable like a sacrifice before the two, expensive men. An offer.

“Diederich, don’t you want to - what’s your name again baby?” His thumb was pinning Ciel’s tongue down and the boy scowled at him.

“Ciel,” he slurred. Charming grinned. 

“Don’t you want to put something in Ciel’s mouth?” Diederich snorted, staring at the wall. Ciel jerked his chin up and Charming’s thumb slid wet over his jaw.

“I charge _double_ for two,” Ciel warned. He fidgeted with the sheets beneath his hands, chest rising and falling. Charming raised an eyebrow, his cheeks a little red from the whiskey. He leaned in closer and Ciel could see a little spot under one of his eyes. A strand of dark hair fell from behind his ear as he cocked his head and grinned.

“You can count,” he breathed - in faux surprise. “A whore that knows maths - not just a pretty face then?” Ciel’s pride bled through his cheeks. He held his tongue, the leather pouch of francs on the line. He swallowed his self-respect past the lump in his throat. His lip curled involuntarily.

“I can count,” he repeated back, slowly. Charming grinned. Diederich was closer, staring down at him now. Ciel looked up at him, chewed his bottom lip into his mouth and his frown softened. He opened his mouth like he might say something but Charming beat him to it. Ciel watched the tension return to the angry man’s brow as Charming forced him up the mattress. His hair and fingers dragged along the rough, cheap bedding.

“What else can you do?” Charming asked, tongue thick with silver. Ciel arched his back off the bed and pressed his thighs closer together.

“I’ll do anything for money,” he promised. He dipped his fingers into his clavicle and brushed his hair off the lily skin. Charming followed his touch, pupils black and focused. He made a sound in his throat. Diederich shifted his feet. The way the angry man stared down at him made the boy’s skin start to prick.

“Good puppy,” Charming smiled, one hand on Ciel’s naked leg and the other on his unbuttoned trousers. He gave Ciel a little pat and crawled over him until his strong legs were dipping the mattress on both sides of the boy’s head. The teenager grabbed his legs, the material like silk under his palms. It smelt like wealth, Charming smelt heady when he tugged Ciel back by the hair and forced his mouth back open with his thumb.

“Open up,” he murmured. Ciel obeyed languidly, eye heavy with intoxication. He tugged the front of his trousers open, Ciel staring up at the ceiling with his fringe in Charming’s grasp. 

“And make it quick,” Charming added. “It’ll be midnight soon.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Smoke escaped Ciel’s lips like a lonely, little ghost.

He tapped his cigarette on the window ledge, back in his familiar haunt and all alone again. The room smelt unfamiliar. Like sweat and sex. His mouth didn’t taste like his own. His rolled his tongue over the back of his teeth and spat out the window. The sky lit up, a sparkling whistle shot up into the air and exploded over the city into a thousand, fiery pieces. In the firework’s hue he saw the shadowy skyline, could practically hear the gleeful song of two million people.

The light caught on the coins on his dresser. It was handsome. Almost as handsome as the asshole he’d earned it from. Ciel brushed his hair over the back of his ear. It was getting long - so long that the ends touched his prominent collar bone. He knew men like it. He knew _everything_ that men liked. He knew how to force their wallets and their pockets inside-out. He knew there was something about him that drove them wild with lust. He couldn’t see it, but he knew how to use it.

Ciel got up and stared back at himself in the mottled, darkened mirror. Behind him, his apartment was so dimly lit that the cracked walls and cheap bed could almost be mistaken for pretty. Ciel turned his face, letting the light catch his cheekbones and the tip of his upturned nose. In this light he figured he was mistaken for pretty too.

He turned his head away from himself. The fireworks popped. The city shook - all the way down to the catacombs and up to the greedy moon. The light rose and fell, faded away into nothing like the end of his cigarette. _Happy New Year_ , he thought to himself. He ashed the smoke into the tacky bowl that sat beside his small fortune. He smiled.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Europe partied. Europe slept.

Europe rolled over and groaned, pulled the curtains shut on the beautiful dawn because the light hurt it’s head. The grey, restful dawn came up over Paris. The snow was littered in confetti and glitter, and glass bottles that sparkled like the latter. The poor were awake but the rich were in bed. Church bells were lost to deaf ears as the whole city remained under last night’s spell. Except for one stranger, nothing but a suitcase in his black, gloved hand.

His footsteps echoed off the slumbering suburbia, his luggage set in the snow before the magnificent spire of a church - grey and serious as the morning. The stained glass windows ghosted the beauty of impending daybreak. Birds chirped. Vendors stirred. The city yawned and opened her eyes and the stranger watched it all come to fruition - a new day, a new life.

The stranger’s warm eyes squinted as the sun finally showed behind the monolithic structure. The smell of fresh bread emerged. The flowers opened. The frost perspired off petals and became fresh dew. What a gorgeous city - if the stranger had only known of the dark district thriving only blocks away from the church. Unbeknownst to the man, he shrugged the sleep off his back and tugged closer the inky black coat that matched the colour of his hair.

He stepped onto the church grounds, shoulders squared with purpose.

……………………………………………………………………………


	2. Deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos me or I'll cry.

**January 1st, 1899.**

 

The Sacred Heart church, or the _l'église du Sacré-Cœur,_ was bigger than any church Sebastian had ever seen. It was the last word in grandeur. The churches back home were made of wood, lacquered white and cracked in the midday sun. The floors creaked and the roses ran wild over the faded glass window. The Sacred Heart was stone, and enormous - with polished stone floors that only emitted the neatest _click_ beneath the heel of his shoes.

The Bibles were not dog-earred, and the statue of Jesus hung glimmering and faithful over the lines of chip-less, varnished pews. The gardens were clipped and manicured to perfection, the grass so flat and full it looked like carpet. The snow only made the church prettier, Sebastian admired, tilting his chin up to watch the fairy-like flakes drift down atop the patrons dressed in their Sunday best.

“ _Au revoir_ ,” Sebastian nodded to a woman dressed head-to-toe in cream lace. She inclined her elegant head and smiled. The priest played with the neatly tailored edges of his sleeves, knowing his accent was obvious and ungraceful - unfitting for a church as opulent as such. He nodded at the next couple who came down the stairs of the church, tongue-shy and feeling foolish after his first day on the job.

His superior, Father Claude Faustus, watched him from the other side of the door. The tall clergyman had a smile that didn’t quite reach his bespectacled eyes, and he was older than Sebastian too. He chatted away to the church-goers in effortless French, a lifetime of practice behind him. When all the patrons had left, Claude put a hand on the back of his arm and ushered them both inside. The door shut with a prominent thud. It echoed up the gorgeous aisle and into the high-steeped roof.

“Father Michaelis,” Claude said, letting go of his elbow. His accent sat rich on the tip of his tongue, although he spoke English rather well. “Congratulations on completing your first sermon.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian nodded, white collar tight around his neck. His mouth tugged up the slightest in response to the praise, but he swallowed it back down. _Pride is a sin,_ he reminded himself. Claude’s eyes narrowed fondly but it gave Sebastian the chills. He’d known Claude less than a day but something didn’t sit right with him about the older priest. He followed Claude down the long isle, between the polished seats. The older man plucked a stray Bible from a pew and traced the embossed cover with his thumb. When he raised his eyes, Sebastian could see a crease form between his eyebrows.

“Are you settling in alright? Paris would be an _adjustment_ , compared to where you’ve come from.”

“I haven’t had much time to think about it,” Sebastian replied truthfully. At 29 he had just become the youngest priest to join the European parish, and had travelled halfway across the world just to do so. The enormity of the trip hadn’t settled yet, but he knew it would catch up to him soon. Claude frowned and turned the book over in his palm.

“This isn’t small town Montana anymore,” he mentioned, tongue touching _Montana_ like it tasted bad to say. The younger priest’s heart skipped. Claude gave his plastic, unnatural smile.

“Things are different here,” he continued. He trailed up the aisle and Sebastian followed like a puppy. Claude tucked the book into it’s place on the shelf and let his fingers glide over the lectern. He faced the pews like he had that morning. What he said was true. Sebastian had known everyone back home, his town had been so tiny he could have listed the residents from memory alone.

“Paris will eat you alive if you let it.” Claude turned the page of the large Bible open on the wooden bench. When he looked up his features were stricken with seriousness. The younger priest pressed his lips together, heart stammering. They were the exact words his father had said to him before he left. He could remember it verbatim. He hadn’t even lifted his head to say goodbye.

“I won’t let it get to me,” Sebastian said, for lack of anything better to say. Claude looked him dead in the eye and tilted his head. His hair, dark like Sebastian’s, fell from it’s greased-back position.

“Paris is dangerous.” He continued. “It’s losing it’s way. We’re no longer the proud city we once claimed to be. There are people living in squalor, children living in the streets.” He paused for a second, shoulders tense. 

“ _Prostitution_ is legal here,” he warned. Sebastian nodded. He knew. His skin pricked at the word. He wasn’t innocent to the way of the world - the west had it’s fair share of whorehouses and prostitutes too. Sebastian was yet to meet one in the flesh.

“Everything is salvable, don’t you think though Father?” His breath caught in his throat, he studied Claude’s face and saw the crease between his brow disappear. He gave Sebastian a stiff nod.

“Some are,” he murmured. His hand closed over his forearm and he stared at the pages of the open Bible with such intent that the younger realised he was far away in thought.

“Watch yourself around the whores, especially. I’d do anything to help the ill-fortuned, but the whores will wrap you around their little finger and drag you down to Hell along with them.”

Sebastian swallowed, eyes wide. He nodded slowly. Claude’s eyes were dull behind the shine of his glasses. His lips curled up over his teeth, disgusted. His words wormed their way between Sebastian’s ribs and settled with the same heavy tension that hung over the room. He would carry the conversation with him for the rest of the day.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel shuddered as a shiver crawled down his spine.

He arched off the wall behind him, pointed his toe towards the stone and stretched shamelessly. His eye roamed the mid-morning crowd, on the look out for a cop or someone he recognised. While what he did was perfectly legal, he was hardly dressy enough to be out on the streets in this neighbourhood - cigarette between his lips and wearing a threadbare black coat (four sizes too large). It had been a nice coat many years ago but had deteriorated as Ciel aged. He refused to part with it.

The shrill air stung through his thin shirt and he tugged his beloved jacket closer. He was far smaller than most eighteen-year-olds, not only in height but in figure. He’d washed his face before coming here, and combed his hair neatly behind his ear. Then he propped his pretty body up against the white-washed stone walls, one foot behind him and advertised in broad daylight. 

Ciel caught the eye of an older man passing by in the crowd. He stared too long, at Ciel’s eyepatch or perhaps the skin of his shoulder exposed under his coat. He sneered - caught in the act, and Ciel bared his teeth straight back at him.

“What? Too much for you huh?” He barked at him, raising his chin up and pushing off the wall. The old man stumbled, pushing into the crowd while the pedestrians around him squawked indignantly. Ciel smirked, snapping his smoke in half instead of stubbing it out. _Let it burn_ , he simmered. It wouldn’t do to spend too much time around these parts - not after causing a scene. He couldn’t afford to spend another night in jail. Literally. He stepped off the pavement and slipped into the sea of pedestrians, fumbling with the box of matches in his pocket. _I really should quit_ , he considered. He popped a new smoke between his lips and stepped off the pavement and into the shade of a shop awning. Not looking where he was going, Ciel slammed into a brick wall chest and toppled roughly to the ground, landing on his back.

“Fuck!” He groaned, hissing as he knew he’d scraped both elbows on the stone below him. His matchsticks were scattered across the sidewalk too, box crumpled beside his legs akimbo. Looking up he was surprised to see the culprit still there, kneeling down and offering him a gloved, black hand.

“Don’t fucking touch me…” He trailed off, words dead in his throat as he took in the face of the dumb dog who’d knocked him down. Dressed all in black, the stranger was disgustingly hot - and Ciel’s heart agreed, thumping so hard he imagined it audible.

He had black hair, brown eyes. Thick eyelashes, concerned eyebrows, and a mouth half-open in concern. His hair was tucked studiously behind one ear, the rest falling in inky locks against serious cheekbones. His neck was wound in a dark scarf, black coat fitting snug over broad, strong shoulders. He was speaking but Ciel blinked at him like he were deaf. He slowly put his hand into the offered palm, and swore again when those fingers curled around his. His hand was so large that Ciel’s was almost lost within it. The stranger pulled him to his feet and the real world came crashing back down to earth - and the man’s voice became recognisable. 

“Please forgive me, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” he begged - in the prettiest, thickest accent Ciel had ever heard. _American_ , he thrilled. The hairs on his neck raised, the stranger’s voice hooking him beneath the belly button and rendering him voiceless.

“Oh my God,” the stranger started again, shaking his head. His big hands grabbed Ciel’s skinny arms and squeezed, thumbs pressing into the dips of his elbows. “I’ve hurt you, haven’t I?” Ciel blinked. _Speak, stupid_.

“N-no,” he replied in English. His cheeks went hot. The stranger’s eyes widened, a little smile on the corner of his mouth.

“Do you speak English?” He breathed, like he couldn’t believe it. Ciel nodded. He couldn’t move - not with those hands holding him in place. Standing, the man was over a foot taller than him. Ciel only reached his biceps.

“You don’t know how much I need you,” the stranger grinned, head tilting back like Ciel was the physical manifestation of a lucky charm. “I’m lost.” Ciel’s mouth twitched. He smiled coyly, words coming back to him.

“I’m Ciel,” he quipped, touching his bottom lip with his tongue. The stranger blinked. He laughed and Ciel died inside. 

“My name’s Sebastian,” he smiled. He let go of Ciel’s arms so he could take his hand again, and shake it. Ciel swallowed the peach-sized lump in his throat and shook back. He’d never met a man who had made him so nervous at first glance.

“Where are you supposed to be?” Ciel asked. _Why the fuck was he actually helping this guy?_ Sebastian’s cheeks went ruddy with embarrassment and the boy was reminded. _Oh. He was devastatingly good-looking._

“I wandered too far from home and now I can’t make it back,” he gestured with his hand, eyes raking the streets over Ciel’s head and shoulders falling. He looked like a lost puppy and it made Ciel feel warm inside.

“You don’t speak any French?” He asked. Sebastian shook his head. Ciel scanned his face and sighed.

“ _Je suis perdu_. That’s ‘ow you say I’m lost,” he offered. Sebastian repeated it back in the worst accent Ciel had ever heard. He frowned. The spell was broken. The stranger was suddenly less attractive to him.

“Where do you live?”

“Uh, the Sacred Heart church,” he replied. Ciel’s skin pricked with cold sweat.

“What?” _Uh-oh_.

“I just started my priesthood there.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Ciel swallowed. His nose twitched. His lip pulled up into a sneer. He took a step back and watched the confusion fall over the dumb priest’s face.

“What? What’s wrong?” Ciel scowled. He mimicked his stupid voice inside his head. He threw his hand up in front of his face and waved it dismissively.

“I ‘ave no time for priests!” He hissed. A crease formed between Sebastian’s eyebrows. Priests were Ciel Phantomhive’s sworn enemy - and he backed up like prey. The idiot followed, face fallen and confused. _What a pity_ , Ciel consoled, turning on his heel and stalking away from the deceptively handsome man.

“Wait! _Ciel!_ ” Ciel cursed himself for telling him his name. He was such a fool for a pretty face, and broad shoulders. He’d commit murder for those shoulders. He walked faster but he could hear the six-foot-four asshole chasing after him. “I didn’t mean to offend you!”

“Offend?” Ciel stopped in his tracks, spinning around to jab a finger at the clueless priest. “Don’t I offend you?”

“Why would you offend me?” Sebastian intruded. His sincere expression infuriated the boy even further, and so did the fact that it had only taken him a split second to catch up to Ciel. His legs were so stupidly long, and Ciel’s abnormally short.

“Wow, you really are stupid,” Ciel said smugly. He crossed his arms over his chest, flicked his eyes up and down the other’s perfect figure. Even in heavy, winter clothes he looked like a Greek statue. He soaked in every inch of him, knowing for certain he would never see Sebastian again.

“I’m a _whore_ ,” he hissed through his teeth. Sebastian actually flinched. His mouth opened like he were to say something, but he pressed it into a thin-lipped grimace. His ears turned red. Ciel laughed at him.

“Now you know,” he said, taking one more lingering gaze at the world’s most attractive man, before turning his back on him for good.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel kept to the alleyways on his way home.

They were his own private footpath. The labyrinth of backstreets provide a passage of safety where he could smoke to his heart’s content and ignore the eye of man. Washing laced above him, flapping like flags. Alleycats kicked garbage, mice disappeared as Ciel stepped past dilapidated wooden crates. If he kept to the alleyways he could be unbothered. Usually.

“Prostitution is a sin.” Ciel halted. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the baritone déjà vu. Sebastian caught up to him easily and Ciel spun back to yell at him.

“Not in the eyes of France!” He quipped, picking up his pace and hopping over a stray can.

“But in the eyes of the Lord,” Sebastian rebutted, making Ciel whip back around. He looked so matter-of-factly that Ciel screamed, throwing his hands up. His blood boiled. He wanted to stamp all over the tall man’s hot, ugly face.

“I don’t believe in God!” Ciel yelled, turning in a frustrated circle. He tried to slip away but the priest shadowed him easily. He was so tall he practically blocked out the sun.

“Why not?” The priest didn’t even sound out of breath, and it infuriated Ciel thrice over. He didn’t look back this time but instead focused on the end of the alley. He could make a run for it and lose the priest in the thrum of pedestrians on the other side of the street.

“I ‘ave a _lot_ of reasons not to,” he mumbled, shoving his hands further into his pockets.

“Like what?” He was even closer, and Ciel flinched. Sebastian’s voice sounded almost bemused. Ciel’s throat was sore from yelling. His lungs ached in the cool air, panting from pacing so quickly. He needed to calm down.

“I ‘ave better things to do then to tell you shit you don’t need to know,” he growled. The end of the alley was so close, Ciel picked up his pace and coughed. Sebastian became white noise to him, the drone of the street calling ahead.

“I know that you should respect yourself,” Sebastian grabbed the back of his arm and Ciel thrashed out of his grip. He backed up against the grimy alley wall and pointed an accusatory finger at the priest.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me,” he panted through his teeth. He licked his lips, finger shaking. Sebastian’s brow furrowed and he swallowed. The boy watched his Adam’s apple dip below the fabric of his scarf, and he wondered if he were wearing a clerical collar beneath.

“Don’t swear,” was all he could say - and Ciel might’ve laughed if he wasn’t so breathless.

“Why don’t you respect me and _fuck off_ ,” Ciel managed to say, slinking out from under the priest’s arresting stare and out into the crowd of people. The marketplace of the slum he lived in. The streets were thick with merchants selling exotic spices, dried meats and herbs, languages so diverse that Ciel hardly recognised half. He slipped through easily, avoiding shoulders and heels. When he looked back he saw Sebastian floundering into the crowd, his gargantuan body a foot taller than the heads of other pedestrians.

Ciel broke free of the crowd and on the other side was his home. He made a bee line for the humble shack, fingers already fishing his key out from the inside of his boot. He jammed it into the lock, gave it a well practiced jiggle to push it loose and edged it open an inch before he felt Sebastian step up on the threshold behind him. Ciel shot a panicked look to the undertaker’s building next door and shoved the priest back as hard as he could. He hardly moved.

“You can’t be ‘ere,” he urged, pushing at the stubborn dog’s chest. It was so solid, muscular. Ciel beat at the broad plane with no effect. The other’s hair had fallen over his face and he looked disheveled. He was still frowning.

“I just want to talk,” he said. He sounded so solemn and honest that Ciel didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He glanced back at the building next door.

“I’ve ‘eard it all before,” he promised. He pushed the man’s shoulders but he didn’t move. He was as solid as the door behind Ciel. “My soul is at stake, right? Repent now or forever suffer the consequences?” Sebastian frowned.

“I just want to help you,” he tried again. Ciel threw his head back, let the winter sun kiss his face as he decided on a rude laugh. He tugged roughly at the immoveable man’s lapels and tugged him forward so he could bring him down into his personal space. He turned on the charm, half-lidding his eye and biting on his lower lip to make it red and wet.

“If you really want to ‘elp me,” he murmured in a honey-sweet voice, “you’ll come upstairs and fuck my brains out.” He felt the priest flinch violently under his fingers, and he smoothed a hand over the fine line of his coat. His jaw tensed, and his eyes flashed with a temper that surprised the teenager. His cheeks darkened and he took Ciel’s hands from his coat and plucked them free. Ciel squeaked as he pushed him back into his doorframe.

“You’re going to Hell,” Sebastian promised, his lips pressed tight into a displeased little line. Ciel lingered in the shadow of his home, looking for the last time at the funeral home next door. He looked back at Sebastian, wearing a little grimace that matched his.

“I’m already there,” he muttered back, and slammed the door in Sebastian’s stupid fucking face.

……………………………………………………………………………

 


	3. Trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE GIMME A KUDOS IF YOU LIKED THIS! And follow me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween.tumblr.com

Sebastian stormed through the crowded square.

His shoulder slammed into a stranger’s and they yelled something at him in neither French nor English. The priest didn’t look back - only mumbled a _sorry_ under his breath as he slipped into the alley from which he’d came. He kept replaying the chance meeting over and over in his head. Never in his life had he met someone as utterly _brash_ as Ciel, nor someone that could make him so angry with nothing but a few curse words and a weak shove to his chest.

 _A male prostitute_. Sebastian thumped the alley wall with his fist. His heart leapt up into his mouth, shoulders heaving as he tried to calm down. His father always said he was as ill-tempered as a bronco. He forced himself to breath slowly, the way the elderly priest at his old church back home had taught him. Things were simpler there. It was just the church, the town and the mountains. His father’s ranch nestled miles out of town, surrounded by wildflowers and the huffs of grazing horses. The priest sighed, slumping against the wall. Montana always calmed him down.

Sebastian had never met a prostitute before, and up until twenty minutes ago he didn’t know there were male whores too. He stared at a busted crate, cat winding it’s way through the splintered wreck. He felt the tension leave his body and he was only left with confusion. Ciel challenged everything he thought he’d known. _Was he the only one? Why did he do it? Why would anyone choose to do that with their life?_

Sebastian cast another look at the mouth of the alley, Ciel’s apartment could be seen through the rush of people. Claude’s words rang in unison with his father’s over and over. _Paris is gonna eat you alive._ Sebastian swallowed his doubt. He wasn’t a calm man, nor was he easily defeated. If there was one thing Sebastian knew for certain - he wouldn’t let Ciel win so easily.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel’s nose screwed up as rough hair tickled it.

His own hair touched between his skinny shoulders, his neck arched back. Fat fingers squeezed his head, jerked it down like his skull was an object. The man’s pudgy digits clenched Ciel’s face so hard that the boy rolled his eye up to glare at his putrid customer.

The white-haired, chubby old man made a face so ugly that Ciel feared he might _gag_ on his tiny dick. His greedy hands yanked at his hair again, reigned him forward so his nose touched the coarse, pale hair between his legs. Ciel balled his fists. He resisted the urge to clamp down and bite. He’d done that before. The blood, the police, _the taste_. Ciel grimaced at the memory and fluttered his eyes shut. He went far away to a place he reserved especially for when he was going down on sixty-year-old men.

 _Bliss. Bliss. Mountains. Somewhere quiet. A stupidly tall priest_. Ciel’s eyelashes kissed his cheeks and he made an annoyed sound around his client. The ugly, old bastard groaned, fist curled once over the thick locks on Ciel’s scalp. He couldn’t get the tall idiot out of his head. Not with cigarettes, and not with sleep. The priest had plagued his memories all morning and followed him down onto his knees where he gave it his all to earn enough cash for a bag of potatoes.

Ciel huffed through his nose. The hammy senior squeezed his head. His nose dug into the fleshy underbelly of the man before him. He kept thinking of the priest’s face - when he’d told him he was a whore. _If he could only see me now_ , he considered as he rolled his eye up towards his client. His watery, beady eyes weren’t even looking at him. He was staring where Ciel’s mouth wrapped around him, fucking his mouth like he wasn’t even there. Ciel almost laughed with his mouth full, at how foul the pathetic old man looked.

“Your mouth was made for this,” he’d said the moment Ciel got down onto his knees for him. Ciel had smirked. If he had a franc for every time a man told him his body was designed, or destined, or simply fucking _made_ for their cock, he’d be rich enough that he wouldn’t have to suck them off, scraping his knees on the rough wood of his own bedroom floor.

Ciel wrung his fingers in his lap. He opened his mouth a little wider, stuck his tongue out like second nature. He rolled his eye up to look at the old man again. The senior glanced at him once, pig-like eyes widening in surprise before he looked away. He tugged Ciel’s head down harder. Ciel gagged. He fantasised of a million different ways he could hurt the man. He hoped his pathetic orgasm would make him have a heart attack. He willed him to keel over and die.

He let the old man take control of his hair until his vision became unfocused and he started to think of something else. Something tall and dark. Something handsome.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s eyes followed Claude to the back of the room.

In the afternoon sun the church became a vibrant, retina-burning yellow. Dust lingered in the day’s brightest light. The youngest priest worried his lip between his teeth and watched Father Faustus loop elegant cursive across the pages of a thick book. His pen scratched loudly in the silent church. Sebastian played with his shirt sleeve and finally plucked up the courage to speak his mind.

“I met a prostitute today,” he muttered. Claude’s pen paused for a second, then it started to scratch again. Claude didn’t raised his eyes from the words he scribbled into the book. For a moment he thought maybe the older man hadn’t heard him. 

“How did you meet her?” He asked, his voice bored. His pen continued to scratch.

“I met her near the the market,” Sebastian swallowed. His lie settled down in his stomach and created a heavy weigh. Like he had swallowed a lump of lead. Claude stopped writing. He looked up, eyes nothing but a glass flash. The younger went still.

“The fruit market?” He asked. Sebastian nodded. That unpleasant frown returned to the older man’s face. He took off his glasses and his eyes were the colour of dead grass. “They’re not supposed to be on this side of town.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said dumbly. He regretted saying anything in the first place. Claude polished his glasses with the hem of his clerical robes. Sebastian tugged at the sleeves of his own.

“They are a plague on our city,” the older priest chastised. He stared down at the delicate structure in his fingers. The light caught in the sun. When he glanced back up to Sebastian there was a dark undertone to his features. He gave a tight-lipped smile but there was nothing warm about it.

“Isn't there something we can do? Can't we help her?” Sebastian searched the face of the other, as impassive and cool as the stone wall around them. Claude shook his head.

“Some aren’t worth helping. If we’re lucky Sebastian,” and then he paused to slide the glasses back up his straight nose, “the winter will take care of them for us.”

Then he got up and left, his shoes clicking across the polished stone floors. His words made the youngest priest’s heart hurt. They held no resemblance to the oath the younger had made to God. There was nothing kind or forgiving about willing death upon the unfortunate. 

Sebastian watched as a cloud passed over head and the church went dull. It was cool inside the church but frigid outside. The nights had been increasingly nasty. He thought of the skinny boy in the threadbare coat, and the weight in his stomach doubled in size.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel thumbed the little stack of coins in his hand.

The weight was satisfying. His hair was wet, dripping with the frigid water he’d collected in a pail to scrub his face and wash the putrid taste from his mouth. His hair clung to his throat and his ears. The collar of his shirt was damp with the residue. The droplets fell on the floor before his dresser as he tugged open the top draw and stashed the coins inside a balled up sock. He heard them clink against the others and it made him rock up onto the front of his feet. His small bounty was worth a small bag of tobacco and some tea - a late birthday present to the very new eighteen-year-old. He’d been an adult for almost a month and his hidden fortune made him _feel_ like one too.

There was a knock at the door and Ciel shoved the sock stash back in and slammed the draw shut. The knock rung up the narrow staircase that lead to his room, but instead of answering the boy went to his wide window and stared down at the intruder knocking at his front door. His heart fell the instant he saw the top of that inky head of hair.

“Tell me this isn’t happening…” He muttered to himself, pinning back the curtain so he could watch the priest rap his big, dumb knuckles over the door again. He was wearing the same coat as yesterday, and the same dumb expression. He was staring patiently at the door like he expected Ciel to open it any second. The teenager laughed in bad taste.

“Oi,” he barked down at the street - loud enough that the man actually jumped. He looked up at him with surprised, warm eyes. He gave a sheepish smile when he saw the boy standing in the open window, arms crossed over his chest looking less than happy.

“ _Bonsoir,_ ” he called up. Ciel recoiled at the murder of his own language. The teenager lingered by the window, pushing open the glass pane a little more out of curiosity. The handsome man hardly hurt to look at either.

“Bonsoir Sebastian,” Ciel drawled, tongue dragging over his name.

“Can I come in? I only want to talk…” The priest waited patiently. His face was so serious that Ciel couldn’t believe it was all actually happening. Ciel leaned his head against the window sill and raised his chin at the man. A drop of water ran off the end of his nose.

“No,” he smiled charmingly. The man’s face fell like a dog’s. “I don’t ‘ave time for you.” Ciel waved his hand before his face and pretended to inspect his fingernails. “Now why don’t you run along ‘ome like a good dog, no?”

Sebastian’s lips pressed together and he frowned. He looked a little pissed off and Ciel felt something stir in his gut. He chewed on his bottom lip, cocking his head to lean further into the window ledge. 

“You won’t let me in?” He asked again. Ciel shook his head slowly, struggling not to smile smugly. The priest considered him with his eyebrows knitted, then he reached out and jiggled the handle of Ciel’s front door. It was unlocked. The boy’s eyes widened as the priest’s narrowed.

“No!” Ciel barked, darting from the window to rush down the stairs of his little apartment. The priest met him in the open door, sun setting behind him. Ciel stopped dead in his tracks halfway down the stairs and seethed down at the intruder. “Get. Out.”

“I said I only wanted to talk,” Sebastian ignored him. He headed right up the stairs and Ciel was powerless to stop him. He pushed right past him and into his bedroom, the teenager trailing right behind him in a state of shock.

“Out!” Ciel demanded again, grabbing the back of Sebastian’s coat. He tried to tug him back but the priest was stubbornly solid. “I’m _busy_.”

“I don’t see anyone here,” the priest said. He stepped into the apartment and his eyes flicked over Ciel’s dishevelled bed, his simplistic belongings. A stack of books sat by the unmade bed, half-drunk cup of tea atop them. A shirt spilled out the ajar draw of his dresser. A cigarette sat crumpled and used up in the palm of Ciel’s brass ashtray. The priest finally looked back at the resident, eyes auburn and stoic.

“You can’t just come into my ‘ouse,” Ciel muttered. He stayed at the door, waiting for the priest to turn his back on him so he could slip the switchblade free from the side of his boot. The taller man’s shoulders fell.

“I just want to help,” he pleaded. Ciel could see his eyes make the same path everyone’s always did. He looked from his eyepatch, to his secondhand clothes, and down to his skinny wrists. It was a path of pity. Ciel wrapped his arms closer around himself.

“I don’t want to ‘ear it,” Ciel stated. He glared at the neat cut of the priest’s coat and hated how nicely he was dressed. He looked out of place in the room. Black and elegant against white and tacky. “All you priests are the same. All say the same thing.” He snapped his fingers together in a chatting gesture and mimicked the men who had come before Sebastian.

“You will burn in ‘ell, your body is not your own, it is a member of Christ himself, _blah blah blah…_ no?” He let his eye roll back into his head. Sebastian opened his mouth and then shut it again. Ciel scoffed.

“I thought so.”

“It’s just… I don’t understand.” 

“Understand what?” Ciel could feel the cool of his knife pressed to his ankle. He willed the hopeless idiot to leave before he pulled it. He didn’t want to slash a priest. Not again.

“Why would you chose to live like this?” He looked so genuinely pathetic. Ciel felt a familiar pang of pride and anger swell up inside his heart.

“Live like _w-what_ ,” he whispered, hurt. His heart thumped in his chest.

“Letting men take advantage of you.” It was Ciel’s turn to be speechless. His cheeks burned and he reached down and snatched his knife from his shoe despite him. He flicked it open, turning the blade in the light of dusk. The colour bled from Sebastian’s face and he backed up.

“Listen,” Ciel said dangerously. “I don’t let anyone take advantage of me. Just because I fuck around? I get _paid_ to fuck around.” He stepped forward and the priest backed up. The handle of his knife felt like a piece of him. He was breathing so hard, so focused. He backed the taller man into the wall with his weapon pointed, one hand shoving Sebastian’s chest with the palm of his hand. It was like hitting a warm brick wall.

“Put the knife away,” Sebastian said, staring down at the little weapon. His face was stony but Ciel could feel how his heart fluttered under his hand. His own beat just as quick. He grabbed a handful of Sebastian’s scarf and tugged it down just enough to see his clerical collar. He clicked his teeth, seeing red. He hated it. He shoved his scarf back at him and backed up.

“Get out of my ‘ouse,” Ciel said again. He pointed at the door with his blade. Sebastian remained pinned to the wall, staring at him like he couldn’t figure him out. His accent. His nature. It was like he’d come from another world. Ciel wet his dry mouth.

“Ciel?”

“ _What?_ ” His heart was too quick, his breaths nervous. He tucked back his damp hair with his unarmed hand. Sebastian followed every move he made.

“I only want to do something nice for you,” he offered. He turned his palms out, an international symbol of surrender. A cruel, agonising fear boiled up inside of Ciel and he bit back the scream he wanted to released.

“I don’t want your _pity_ ,” he growled. He pointed at the door again, teeth bared so viciously that the priest finally moved, shifting out of the apartment with his back pressed to the wall. Ciel followed him with his knife. He hesitated in the doorway and looked at the boy like he had more to say. The teenager didn’t give him the chance. He backed him into the narrow hallway and watched as he disappeared down the stairs. He lingered again at the doorframe, gloved fingers folding the portal ajar.

“I’ll come back to see you again,” he promised, doing one last head-to-toe of Ciel’s appearance. The boy sneered, flicking his blade in half and kicking the door shut in Sebastian’s face for the second time in twenty-hour hours.

“I’ll come back to see you again,” Ciel repeated, in the stupidest, most annoying American accent he could muster. He stood simmering at his closed, front door for a very long time.

Sebastian stood on the other side for just as long.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 


	4. Quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave me the kudos, it makes me update quicker. Follow me on Tumblr!

Sebastian really did come back.

It happened the next day and Ciel was speechless that the asshole had the guts to come back to his apartment after what had happened. Though apparently the priest was a man of his word. He stood politely before Ciel’s front door and knocked, although he could see that Ciel was sitting in the window reading. The boy ignored him. He had a novel open in one hand, and a bowl of buttered potatoes at the disposal of the other. The day was too lovely to be ruined.

“Good morning Ciel.”

Ciel finally glanced down. His finger held the place of his book as he took in the priest’s polished presentation. He wasn’t wearing the scarf today, and his collar stood out against his dark robes. He was whole-heartedly too obvious.

“Fuck off,” Ciel bit. The priest’s face fell. He stared at Ciel’s front door but the boy had made a point of locking it. He tensed his jaw so he would hide the smile inspired by his own ingenious. 

“You should watch your mouth,” Sebastian warned, his friendly disposition gone. His jaw was tense, cheeks dark like the word had embarrassed him. Ciel pinched a wedge of potato between his fingers and dragged it through the butter.

“Watch my mouth,” he taunted. He popped the potato between his teeth and chewed it up until it was mushy, then showed it to the stupid clergyman. He watched a crease form between the man’s eyebrows and it was the highlight of his day. “Go the _fuck_ ‘ome.”

“Oh. You’re a real classy thing, aren’t you?” Sebastian chided. His accent thickened when he was upset. Ciel swallowed the mouthful of mushy potato. His ears burnt. He hugged his novel close to his chest and turned his head away from Sebastian’s glare. The next time he looked, the priest was gone.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian came back the next day to find Ciel exactly where he’d left him. The boy was precariously close to the edge, willowy wrists poised with a cigarette and the same book.

“Bonjour,” Sebastian tried. The boy flicked his eye down to Sebastian, who felt as important as an ant. There was a certain regal elegance to the boy and the priest wandered if he knew how infuriating his upturned, imperious little nose was. If looks could kill, Sebastian would be dead on his feet.

“Your French is shit,” Ciel graced him with a sentence that made Sebastian flinch. His bare toes tensed against the side of his apartment building, tangling betwixt the overgrown ivy. The boy’s easy dismissal triggered an anger inside him that he’d kept dormant for decades. He tensed his jaw and pushed the rage back down to his gut. He cleared his throat.

“Please, won’t you take a walk with me?” He offered the well-balanced prostitute. Ciel didn’t even look up from his book this time, his eye glued to the yellowed pages. When he got to the end of the page he flipped it over and ashed his cigarette with a well-coordinated elegance.

“I think… I would rather _die_ than take a walk with you,” Ciel said, cold as the morning air. Sebastian glared at him but the kid didn’t even notice. He was beginning to feel stupid, but his stubborn nature was stoked by the boy’s arrogance. He stalked off, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his coat.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel let his head sink further into the water.

Pale fingers slid down the sides of the crooked, tin bathtub as the young man enveloped his skull in lukewarm water. A couple of bubbles emerged to the surface through twisting locks of dark hair. He often liked to slip under the water and imagine what it would feel like to drown. The apartment was deathly silent for a few moments until the boy’s heard reappeared, taking in a shuddering breath of air. As soon as he’d breathed in, he took another draw of his cigarette. With his third breath, he exhaled dramatically.

He couldn’t get Sebastian out of his head. _That fucker_ , he thought over and over, frustrated that he even took the time to think about the priest. The bath was supposed to have calmed him, it was a luxury he rarely extended to himself, and yet here he was, letting the sacred warm water serve as a breeding ground of bitter thoughts. 

Sebastian had shown up again, and again, every morning until Ciel could set his watch to him. It had been a week and this morning in particular had really driven the teenager over the edge.

He’d been in his usual spot by the window, book in hand when the tall American appeared beneath him. 

“Can I buy you some breakfast?” Sebastian had greeted him with, veiling his ulterior motives with the promise of hot food. Ciel had scowled, like normal, and continued with his book.

“You can’t buy me,” he’d said, aware of how stupid it sounded as soon as it left his lips. The priest seemed to realise this, his mouth curled up in Ciel’s peripheral.

“What are you reading?” Sebastian had asked next. At first Ciel didn’t answer but after a moment he took pity and inclined the cover towards him.

“Wow,” Sebastian smiled with too many teeth. “You’re reading a western novel? I didn’t know you had them over here.”

“We don’t,” Ciel muttered before he could stop himself. “I got this one as a gift and it’s…” he’d trailed off, colour rising in his cheeks. “It’s nothing,” he’d finished, angling himself away from the window. Sebastian lingered longer, seemingly in thought before he’d spoken again.

“Where’s it set?” Ciel looked down at the well loved book in his hands, a gift from the man who raised him. It’s cover was dull with age, it’s pages turned and dog-earred. He rubbed his thumb across the painting of a man on horseback, herd of cattle on the grassy plains behind him.

“Montana,” he replied. Sebastian was quite for a little while before he replied.

“That’s where I’m from.”

Ciel drew in another angry breath as he recalled what the priest had said. All the years he’d spent reading western novels and he’d had no idea what a western accent sounded like. That drawl, that lazy kind of baritone palaver that Sebastian used - it was the voice he’d been imagining for years. The realisation rubbed him the wrong way, and he spewed smoke from his lips at the honest smile that had plucked up on the American’s mouth.

The bath water turned cold. The bather was still silently stewing in confused thoughts. It took effort to pull himself from the frigid bath, cool water clinging to his skin as he patted it dry. With his hair still damp and clinging to his neck, Ciel crawled into his bed and fell into a long and fitful rest.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel’s breath was knocked out of him with every thrust.

He watched it escaped in little clouds, up into the night sky. He whimpered, fingers digging into the slick brick wall behind him. His clean hair was sticky with liquor, cheeks still ruddy from whatever the bartender had slid him at his favourite tavern. He could hear the music inside, the house band thumping away as Ciel was fucked into the wall out the back of the pub.

Two large hands bit into his sides, pinning him in place as he was fucked into. Stubble rubbed his throat raw, an ugly grunt was pushed up into his ear. Ciel grit his teeth, his boots digging into the back of the man’s thigh as he struggled to stay upright. He was too drunk to stay standing, kept swaying and hitting the wall. _Thud. Thud._ His shoe slipped in the slushy snow. The stranger stunk.

When it was over the man didn’t look at him. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Most couldn’t. He pressed guilty payment into Ciel’s hand and took off like he hadn’t just brutalised Ciel against the wall. The boy’s knees were still shaking, half-hard in his pants, loose around his skinny hips. _Romance really is dead_ , he thought, closing his hand around the sweaty coins.

Ciel wiped his pink knuckles over his numb nose. He couldn’t stay out in the cold too long or he would get sick. He pulled his coat tighter around his body and took off in the opposite direction his client had gone. He headed aimlessly towards the centre of town, hoping to find a bakery that was still open. In the middle of the night he could sometimes find a man baking bread for the morning rush, and usually sweet-talk his way into a discounted croissant or pastry. His drunk stomach growled at the idea.

The streets were shrouded in a thick fog. Dim lamplight lit up spots on the grimy cobblestone, making trash cans stretch out grotesquely. Condensation kept close to the earth and froze the boy’s ankles. Ciel trudged onwards, mind determinedly focused on hot, crumbling pastry that he didn’t realise he was passing the Sacred Heart church until he was standing right behind it. The arrogant spire was unmissable. 

From the back it wasn’t as elegant, but the gardens were well trimmed and a shallow, iron fence surrounded the grounds. There was a little cottage on the grounds that Ciel had noticed before, but tonight he picked up something new. For the first time in forever there was a dim light coming from within the cottage. It was so obvious in the inky, consuming night. A rude, drunk smile found it’s way to Ciel’s mouth.

“ _Found you_ ,” he murmured to himself. His intuition told him that Sebastian lived in that humble, little cottage. He wanted to groan with how cliche and obvious that would be. He needed to check - to see if the priest really did live in the fairytale hut.

He hopped the fence easily. The grass squeaked under his boots and he slid a little on the snow. He grabbed a handful of brush so he wouldn’t slip, tugging painstakingly manicured flowers free from a pretty shrub. He dusted the petals off his hands and left a trail of evidence from the fence all the way up to the window that the light shone from. The cottage was disgusting. There were actual roses growing up the wall, and the windows were covered up with quaint, lace curtains. A spiral of smoke swirled up from the chimney.

Ciel crouched under the window closest to the door, palm pressed over his mouth so he wouldn’t make a sound. His boots scraped on the pavement beneath him. His coat whispered over the brickwork as he raised up and peeked through the window. It was just as charming on the inside - a bed covered in a patchwork quilt, and a cute round table before a simmering fireplace. A dresser with a few books stacked on top. Something was cooking over the fire. It was cosy and it looked warm and Ciel wanted to go inside. He blinked the drunken thought out of his head.

Ciel’s breath caught in his throat as Sebastian suddenly stepped in front of the window. Ciel followed him, heart motionless as he removed the boiling pot from above the fireplace. He was dressed casually. His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, waistcoat snug around his middle with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Ciel swallowed when he saw his bare hands, fingers plucking a tea cup from the kitchenette to bring to the cute, round table. He watched him make a painfully boring cup of tea, in a painfully boring cottage.

Ciel readjusted his crouched, ducking down to shuffle on the stone before he raised back up to get a better view. Oh, shit. Sebastian was gone. Ciel craned his neck, strained his only eye to look for the phantom clergyman when a huge shadow cut out all the light. Ciel squealed. He threw his hands back from the window ledge but fell forward. With a sick _scrape_ his chin grazed the rough brickwork. His knees crumped under him with a thud. He cupped his fingers to his burning chin, trembling in shock. His fingers came back dark with spots of blood. The cottage door opened with a telling creak.

“Ciel,” the priest stated in monotone. Ciel raised his heavy eye to look up at the priest, cradling a hot cup of tea in his hand. The teenager pressed his lips shut stubbornly and felt a thin trickle of blood ooze down his chin. Sebastian cleared his deep voice.

“Better come inside, I guess.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 


	5. Cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings I guess. Mentions of dead bodies, I know some people don't like that.  
> Please follow me on Tumblr! And please kudos me if you enjoy my work.

When Sebastian told his father he was moving to Europe, he didn't react.

The young man thought it might get some kind of reaction from him. Perhaps a nod. A frown. It inspired nothing. The old man sat in his worn, leather armchair and stared aimlessly at the fire. His dead mother's ring glinted on his father's hand. Silent. Miserable, like the pair of them without her. The American priest had shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His heart was tight in his chest. He said it again, thinking he hadn't heard - but his father continued to ignore him. Sebastian thought about that moment for a long time because he never forgot how silent his home had been. Nothing but cicadas, and the faint whiney of a horse, and the screaming silence from his stoic, broken father.

He didn't come with him to the train station. Sebastian boarded alone, suitcase by his legs. He owned next to nothing. As the train pulled out of the station the young priest watched his tiny town disappear and he wondered if he would ever come back. The trading post rolled by. The saloon. His church. Everyone had been excited that one of their own was embarking on a journey to Europe - _of all places!_ But they were saddened to see him go.

Sebastian watched the hills rush past, train picking up speed as the wildflowers turned to a pale blur. He saw the foot of the mountains, the valley where he lived. The young man had pressed his face into his palm, stared out the window as the last of the familiar escaped him and he was suddenly out on his own. He hoped his father missed him. He hoped that he would never come back to this town, because it would break his heart to find out his father didn't really notice him leave.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“It’s almost midnight,” Sebastian said to fill the silence. The cup of tea in his hands was warm and calming. The bleeding boy at his kitchen table was it’s antithesis. Ciel avoided his gaze, nose raised imperiously as if he hadn’t just been caught trespassing.

Ciel was surreal. He was bleeding from his chin, fingers pressed to the wound and only making it messier. His hair was damp. His cheeks were ruddy from intoxication, probably. _Why else would he be here in the middle of the night?_ Sebastian remembered the knife in his boot and wondered briefly if he’d come here to kill him. He swallowed, fingers twitching on his tea cup.

“I heard you coming,” the older man spoke again. This time Ciel glanced at him. His eye was dark in the candlelit room. He blinked, half his face covered with a plain, black eyepatch. He stared for so long that Ciel lowered his eye again, sniffing. He wasn’t in the mood to talk, obviously.

“I suppose you thought you were being quiet…” Sebastian continued into the uneasy silence. Ciel’s own cup of tea sat untouched in the middle of the table, a peace offering ignored. “But I could hear your boots smashing through the roses.”

Sebastian’s mouth curled up in the faintest suggestion of a smile. Ciel continued to stare at the flickering fire. When he wasn’t scowling or talking, the older man could admit that the young boy was far from ugly. Even with the eyepatch and his mean pout, he was fair. He might have been mistaken for a girl, if not for the sharp line of his jaw and the slope of his shoulders. His hair was certainly long enough, and his eyelashes put many women to shame.

“Did you just break in here to ignore me?” Ciel glanced up again. His face transformed back into it’s naturally displeased expression.

“Oh, you don’t like it when someone trespasses in your ‘ome?” He raised one eyebrow. Sebastian wanted to smile. The boy was easy to rile. The priest could manipulate him with the slightest jest of his character. 

“Point taken,” he conceded. He finally took a sip of the tea he had made, sweet burn on his bottom lip. Ciel watched him, and then looked down at his own tea. “While I have you here, have you reconsidered having breakfast with me?”

“I ‘aven’t considered it at all…” Ciel frowned. He dropped his hand to reveal the raw scrape that ran from his bottom lip and curled under his chin. The smeared blood made the boy’s mouth wet and scarlet red. “I want you to leave me _alone_.”

Sebastian turned his eyes from the impossibly red mouth and looked down to his blood-stained fingers. He felt a lump rise in his throat. “And what if I don’t?”

“You’re all the same,” Ciel groaned. Sebastian winched as his scraped mouth moved but the boy seemed not to feel it.  “One after another, you never _fucking_ give up!”

“Please don’t swear,” Sebastian said, the volume of Ciel’s voice making him flinch. His fingers tightened around his tea cup. Ciel gave him the most murderous look.

“You pity me. You think I ‘ave some ‘orrible life?” Ciel stood up, chair scraping on the wooden floor. His bloody fingers touched the tabletop and Sebastian wondered if they would stain. The petite teenager drew himself up to his full height and he was still less than intimidating.

“You only think you’re happy because you don’t know any differently,” Sebastian said bitterly. He said the words to his tea, not brave enough to face the younger’s fury. The boy laughed instead, joylessly. His red fingers flew up into the air as he groaned.

“I could say _exactly_ the same about you, no?” Sebastian screwed up his nose. He had nothing clever to say to that. In fact, he was sorry for even starting the argument in the first place. His heart pricked with shame. He wondered what his father would think, standing there on church-grounds, arguing with a whore. That might have finally inspired _some_ sort of reaction from him.

“You don’t know me at all,” Ciel bared his teeth, his regal posture falling to reveal desperation. His shoulders rose and fell in the quiet cottage. He was breathing heavily. After what seemed like an entire minute, Sebastian replied.

”I've been trying to get to know you.”

“Why?” Ciel bit. He looked genuinely confused. “I’m not going to change.”

Sebastian laughed. The situation was too bizarre. He pulled free the folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and came forward with it, presenting it to the bitter boy. Ciel stared at it, offended. He snatched it from his hand and pressed it to his sluggish chin. His breath was still falling rapidly between his dried-blood lips. “I don’t want you to change. I just want to help.”

“You can’t ‘elp me,” Ciel said against the crumpled handkerchief. The white fabric stained. Sebastian’s heart felt finicky and frail.

“Why not?”

“Because I am not suffering,” Ciel mouthed carefully. The priest had been staring so intently that he watched each syllable live and die on the teenager’s tongue. When he left, his cup of tea remained untouched on the table - two red fingerprints pressed into the delicate, white china. 

Sebastian was all alone with the silence and he thought of his father again.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke groaning.

His body ached. It ached from where he’d been fucked. It ached from the cheap brandy he’d drank. It ached because his mattress was cheap and itchy. The boy curled up onto his side, drawing the thin sheets around him like a cocoon. The morning light shone through the window, hardly filtered by the curtains. It was so cold. He shivered, pressing his knees closer to himself for comfort.

“Fuck,” Ciel chewed bitterly. His chin was stiff and it stung. He touched his fingers to it and could feel it had scabbed over. It was too cold to stay in bed so he wriggled out of the sheets and tugged thick, ugly socks onto his bare feet. His stomach growled and he looked to the dresser where he kept his stash.

He pulled a knitted jumper over his head. It was rife with holes. The wool was itchy even through his linen shirt, but it was warm. He shrugged his stolen coat over the top and pocketed a few of his hard-earned coins. Goosebumps met his neck and ankles as he trailed down his skinny steps and out into the fresh, dewey dawn. He was about to cross the square to track down a bakery when he was interrupted by a voice.

“Ciel.”

Ciel paused at the sound of his own name. He looked over to the funeral home next door, a two-storey building almost twin to his own. The front of the building was decorated with thick, wooden barrels and three coffins were stacked against the wall in descending size. It was spooky, but not as spooky as the man who had called his name.

The undertaker leaned against the open door of his building, arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed all in black, fabric dusted in chalk and chemicals. His hair was the colour of the morning snow, tucked back behind one ear in the same style Ciel wore his. The undertaker’s was much longer though, sitting against his elbows. His ran his tongue over his bottom lip and tasted dry blood.

“You’re late on your rent,” the undertaker said. He sounded tired. Ciel’s fingers curled tightly around the coins in his pocket so they wouldn’t make a sound.

“I’ll have it tomorrow,” he promised. The other man narrowed his eyes. He could always tell when the teenager told a lie.

“Okay,” he said finally, his green eyes flicking down to Ciel’s pocketed hand. The boy felt locked in place, as if he couldn’t move until the white-haired man removed his binding eyes from him. “Don’t forget what happens if you can’t pay.”

Ciel drew in a nervous breath, heart crawling up into his mouth. He could taste his pulse. The other man smoothed back a stray strand of pale hair that slipped down between his eyes. He had a scar there, across the bridge and along the flesh of his cheek.

“I said I’ll have it by tomorrow,” Ciel said through his teeth, eye following the scar until it disappeared into the undertaker’s hairline. The other gave him a tight-lipped smile, tilting his head.

Ciel walked quickly to the nearest bakery but could only bring himself to purchase a small, plain roll of bread - no bigger than the size of his fist. He stared at it sadly and broke off a flavourless chunk. He chewed at the roll with disinterest and realised he wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Sebastian didn’t show up that mid-morning, Ciel pretended that he wasn’t disappointed.

He told himself it was only routine. He’d grown so used to the man’s visits that his absence threw off the balance of his day. That, coupled with his run in with the undertaker, put him in a glum little mood that not even his favourite book could pull him from.

The sun rose from the ground and melted the snow until it dripped onto the grimy streets. Ciel finished his book and stared for a long time at the last page. His lukewarm tea was forgotten. A pile of finished cigarettes sat smooshed in the ashtray under the triangle of his bent legs. Occasionally the boy glanced up and stared at the square below. The sun came down and the sky turned purple, and the first twilight stars peeked up over the horizon. Ciel gathered the cigarette butts and took them downstairs to the trash in the alley between the two buildings.

He dusted the tobacco from his palms when two, big hands clamped over his shoulders. Ciel jumped out of his skin, hair whipping his face as he was spun around and shoved roughly into the wall behind him. He let out a relieved, albeit apprehensive breath when he saw that it was only the undertaker.

“Where’s my rent?” He grit. He didn’t look happy. There were dark circles under his eyes from the late hours he kept. This close he smelt like bleach. The miasma caught in Ciel’s throat and made him gag as the taller man leaned in close.

“Tonight,” he promised. The undertaker twisted his hand into the front of Ciel’s shirt, so hard it untucked and yanked under the teenager’s arms.

“I’m so sick of your fucking games, Ciel. If you don’t get my money you can sleep outside. Would you like that?” Ciel reached up and put his hand around the wrist that clung to his shirt. He tried to pluck the undertaker’s fingers free but they were steadfast.

“No,” the teenager mumbled. His hair caught and pulled in the brick behind him. The undertaker sighed, breath tickling the skin of Ciel’s neck. Between them Ciel could not breath without tasted formaldehyde. “I really will have it tonight.”

“I didn’t think so,” the undertaker said, letting go of his shirt. It was crumpled and one of the buttons had come loose. “Find a way to pay me, Ciel. It doesn’t have to be money tonight.” The teenager swallowed thickly, fingers shaking around the undertaker’s arm.

“You can pay me with your body again,” the older man uttered, nice and slow into Ciel’s pierced ear. It made Ciel’s skin crawl, both eyes prick with nervous tears. The undertaker shoved him hard, rough back into the wall and his teeth clicked together sharply. He slid down onto the ground in the dark, all alone as the undertaker closed his door on him. Ciel pressed the heel of his palm into his damp eye.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel stayed out until the streetlights extinguished.

His tongue tasted like six types of liquor. He took anything the bartender gave him, or anything a strange man slid his way. It churned unhappily inside of him. Ciel’s hair smelt like cigarettes and his clothes were untucked. His skin wore the grip of multiple men and his pockets _clinked_ with his efforts. There was a dull ache in the bottom of his spine but Ciel was used to it.

He staggered out the door of his favourite tavern, only a few drunk stragglers left behind. Ciel searched for someone else. Another man to push him into a dark corner and paw at his skin until it was raw and used. Ciel’s body felt so numb in the cold anyway. He stumbled slowly in the direction of his apartment, dragging his feet despite the encroaching coldness making his lungs feel tight.

When he wandered back to his neighbourhood there was only one light on. Ciel’s heart sunk. He figured if he stayed out long enough that the other might have gone to bed. But no. He was standing there waiting for him - one step ahead of Ciel like he had always been. His dark, foreboding clothes made Ciel feel like he was approaching his own funeral.

Ciel didn’t raise his head as he came to stand still at the undertaker’s doorstep. The square was deathly quiet. The undertaker reeked of death. He had been working all night again - Ciel could tell from his rolled up sleeves and the way his hair was tied back from his face. Without words, Ciel reached into his pocket and gave the man everything he had earned that night, plus the stash from his dresser. The blond counted the coins one by one.

“It’s not enough,” he finally said. Ciel kept his eye on the ground.

“I know,” he admitted. He hardly flinched as the other’s body crowded in on his. One cool hand pressed into the small of his back and the other came up to clutch at the long, grey hair on the back of Ciel’s neck. The white-haired man laughed against the skin of his throat before pressing a kiss into his bloodline. 

“What was it this time _hm_?” He muttered, mouth close to Ciel’s earring. His fingers slipped up under the fabric of his shirt and planted goosebumps on the dip of his spine. “Liquor? Drugs?”

Ciel jerked his head away from his mouth, staring at the lantern outside the funeral home. Moths danced around it. He didn’t answer because it didn’t matter. No matter what he said, the punishment would be the same. He began to shut down his mind bit by bit as he felt his back press into the cold stone wall of the shopfront. The undertaker’s fingers tugged his trousers loose and pushed them down an inch on the teenager’s skinny hips. The boy shut his eye. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been fucked outside like this before. He reminded himself to breath.

“Inside,” the undertaker read his mind and Ciel flinched. He dug his hands into his landlord’s biceps and shook his head. _No no no_. The older man gave him a shove towards the door of the funeral home.

“I don’t want to go inside,” he whined. The undertaker shoved him again but Ciel planted his feet. The other man groaned, impatient with the boy’s nature. He shoved him hard again, so hard that the kid stumbled back and fell into the black of the room behind him. He darted forward to escape but the undertaker grabbed him like a puppy, hand clutching the skin on the back of his neck.

“Please. _No_.” Ciel kept his eye squeezed shut as the smell of chemicals stuffed his throat and nose. His boots dragged on the stone floor as he smelt the miasma of something dark and bitter too. 

“You’re getting too old to still be afraid of them, Ciel.” The undertaker backed him into the centre of the room, the room Ciel had burnt into his memory. It was windowless and dark and it smelt rancid. There were barrels and coffins on the floor and against the walls, some full and others not. It was the room he had first met the undertaker in and he could never forget it.

The Parisian heard the door shut and the hand on the back of his neck pushed him forward so he was standing against a cool slab of concrete. Ciel opened his eye and yelled. He tried to back up but the undertaker grabbed him from behind. He squeezed Ciel’s hips in mock affection. There on the slab before them was a body covered with a thin, white shroud.

Before Ciel could escape the undertaker reached around him and gave a tug to the fabric that shrouded the body. Ciel couldn't stop the frightened scream from falling out of his mouth. The body was nude, pale, eyes half open, pupils dead and unfocused. Ciel buried his head in the folds of the undertaker's clothing, seeking comfort from his enemy and the man laughed at him. Squeezing his hips he took one of his hands and stroked it affectionately.

“Shut up,” the other demanded. Ciel pressed his lips shut but he couldn’t stop the animal-like whimpers. His skin prickled hot and he broke out in a sweat. He was so close to the corpse that he was suffocating.

“You’re not a little boy anymore,” the undertaker whispered into the back of his hair. He grabbed Ciel’s hand and intertwined their fingers. Then he pushed out Ciel’s hand and forced it towards the body.

"No, _no!_ " Ciel moaned, twisting his body to try escape, but the grip was too strong. With a damp slap his open palm was pressed against the corpse's leg and he screamed. It was over in a second, but the sensation of cold, dead flesh lingered in the boy's hand.

“Oh come on… It wasn’t so bad, was it?” Chided the undertaker, turning Ciel away from the body so he could tenderly stroke his face. His hands were barely warmer than the corpse. The boy could feel hot, effortless tears run down his cheeks. Emotionally he had left the room.

He was fucked up against the wall next to a coffin, held tightly between the cool bricks and the undertaker's body. The older man fucked like he worked, with emotionless attention to the body below him. Ciel stopped breathing when his teeth clamped over his neck, his shoulders. His pulse trembled under his skin and he knew the undertaker was obsessed with how it moved. 

He was the only living body the other man had ever touched.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The next morning was unseasonably warm.

The weather reminded the priest of the home he had left behind, and it put him in a good mood. The people of Paris took to the streets to enjoy the sun and the whole city seemed to buzz with an excited energy. The infectious energy lifted Sebastian’s spirits. Children giggled as they wove through the forest of their parent’s legs, adults dressed to the nines to impress the sun.

Sebastian was dressed nice too. His coat was pressed, his collar straight, his shoes shined. His hair was tucked back behind one ear and he was freshly shaven. The air outside was too warm for his wool coat so he wore a fitted jacket over his plain, white shirt. He even wore a tie. He dressed to impress. To impress Ciel Phantomhive, that is.

By now Ciel’s neighbourhood was less foreign to him. The chatter of foreign languages and the strange smell of fried meat didn’t make his nose wrinkle anymore. He smiled at a woman selling pottery and she frowned instead of smiling back. Sebastian didn’t care - that’s how good of a mood he was in.

And there was Ciel - sitting up in his window sill, as reliable as the sunrise. A fresh book was open in his hand and a smoke in the other. From below the boy, the priest could the novel had a picture of a horse on the spine.

“Good morning,” Sebastian called up with an honest smile. Ciel surprised him by glancing down, scanning the priest’s happy face.

“Bonjour,” he said quietly. Sebastian’s eyes widened.

“I want you to have breakfast with me,” he asked, hands overturned like he was under Ciel’s mercy. “I won’t ask a single thing about your… job.”

Ciel’s hair was damp and pushed back off his face, making him look very young. He wondered how old the teenager was. His eyebrow and eyelashes were as dark as the patch on his face, but the rest of him was pale. His eye was caught between the dark and the light, heavy like a pool of water. He chewed at his pink, lower lip.

"Breakfast?" He echoed, and Sebastian smiled.

“Croissants and coffee." Ciel backed himself away from the window.

"Okay," he agreed, and Sebastian's heart swelled.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Not far from Ciel’s apartment there was a park.

In the summer it was lush green and spilling with life - insects, birds and families. It was a gorgeous real estate but in the winter the grass turned yellow and the trees shed their beauty. All that remained was a barren, dull landscape dotted with skeleton trees. 

The two were the only occupants. Ciel told him, in that shy and unsure voice, that it was his favourite place to go with his parents when he was a child. Sebastian held onto that information - that olive branch - like a gift the boy had bestowed him with. The wind blew and the little Parisian's back stiffened as he shivered.

"You must be cold wearing that," Sebastian said, trying to keep his tone light. He stared at the scruffy arms of Ciel's coat, little holes dotting the fabric from years of use. Ciel folded his fingers across it like the coat could hear what he said.

"It's fine," he mumbled, eye at the ground. And then, with little fanfare he offered another branch to the patient priest.

"It means a lot to me," he said a moment later, lips pressing into a small, nervous line. As if he'd confessed too much. The priest nodded and rewarded the boy with the brown paper bag of pasteries tucked under his arm.

Two buttery warm croissants were plucked out of the paper and the boy chewed at a third while they walked. He took them to a spot beneath a baring tree, stone bench on a patch of dead grass. The view of the frozen river was underwhelming. Ciel didn’t speak again but continued to stuff the croissant into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. By the look of his thin wrists and cheekbones, Sebastian tended to believe that much was true.

The boy’s jaw and throat were dotted in little red scrapes and bruises, something he only picked up in the morning light. The boy’s entire demeanour seemed dethroned and subdued, and while the priest enjoyed having the upper hand he couldn’t ignore that something was off.

“Are you alright Ciel?” The boy’s sober eye glanced up at him, mouth shiny with butter. He frowned.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Sebastian kept his promise and sealed his lips. He picked apart his croissant and Ciel ate the other. When he saw the tension fall from the guarded boy’s shoulders he asked about his family.

“My parents are dead,” he said so plainly that he might have been commenting on the weather. “I don’t remember them. I was six when it ‘appened.” Sebastian’s heart clenched.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Ciel shrugged like it was nothing. Like it didn’t hurt him. The priest breathed out shakily, fingers spreading over the cool stone bench like it would ground him.

“My mom died when I was little too,” he said quickly. Ciel looked at him like they had suddenly found common ground. His eye widened a little as Sebastian’s heart crawled back down his throat.

“She did?” Ciel murmured. Sebastian nodded. It hurt him to even mention his mother but it was worth it - seeing something on the boy’s face light up. _A kindred spirit._

“I don’t remember her either,” Sebastian said truthfully. Only a glimpse of her face that faded and distorted the longer he lived. There were no photos, and his dad never told him what she looked like. Ciel studied him for a moment, Sebastian’s ears burning as he let the teenager look over his features.

“‘Ow old are you?” He asked. Sebastian released the breath he’d been holding. He laughed, nervously.

“I’ll turn thirty soon.” Ciel smiled for the first time that morning - a mean smile. His upturned nose wrinkled as his sharp teeth caught the sun.

“That’s old,” he said playfully. He was fidgeting with the paper bag of his croissant, perhaps wishing there was another. Sebastian would bring more next time. “I’m eighteen.”

“You’re so young,” Sebastian blurted. He couldn’t hide the surprise on his face and Ciel punished him with it by revoking his smile.

“I’m not a _child_.” Sebastian shook his head, hands up in front of him.

“No, I don’t think that. I just meant, you. You’re so young. To be living out on your own.” The boy’s scowl fell and he stared down at the snowy grass between his boots. It had taken so much for the priest not to mention his profession. That he was alarmed that a teenager would do this to himself. And sickened men would take advantage of someone to young and small.

“And what about your father?” Ciel mumbled awkwardly after a minute of staring out at the bleak river. He looked at Sebastian, his youthful face vastly intimidating with questions.

“He was alive the last time I saw him,” Sebastian squared his shoulders. Ciel’s eye once again lit up with intrigue. He chewed at his lip like it were fruit. The boy tucked a strand of thick, dark hair back behind his pink ears and continued to pinch his chubby lip between his teeth like he were mulling it over.

“Does he miss you?” He finally asked. He lifted his head and waited quietly for an answer - to a question much deeper than Sebastian had been expecting. He opened his mouth and shut it. He opened it again, lips chapped.

“No.” He didn’t expect Ciel to smile but he did.

“You’re all alone, aren’t you?” His nose scrunched up, eye narrowing at the bright sun reflected off the snow. Sebastian tensed his jaw.

“I guess I am,” he mumbled. Sebastian’s cheeks burnt in humiliation. He tugged at his shirt sleeves and stared at the boring patch of ground between his shoes. A warm breeze tickled the hair on the back of his neck and it rippled across his body, his flesh pimpling even under his sleeves. Ciel plucked a cigarette from out behind his ear and lit it, shaking the little match until it’s grey ghost evaporated into the midday air. The smell tickled Sebastian’s nose and he pressed his lips together into a displeased line.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he warned. Ciel narrowed his dangerous eye at him. He drew in a long, deliberate breath and exhaled through a thin gap in his lips. The smoke spiralled up into the air and faded with Sebastian’s patience.

“You keep telling people what to do, you’re no good at making friends.” He gave a well-practiced flick to the smoke and ash fell from the tip. Sebastian had nothing clever to say, so he simply watched as Ciel inhaled the cigarette piece by piece, and the thinnest branches of the dead trees danced. The time passed without mishap. The two men shared a rare, uninterrupted silence as they were both left to the mercy of their own thoughts.

Sebastian couldn’t stop repeating Ciel’s words back to himself, ringing through his head in that thick-as-honey French accent. _You’re no good at making friends._

Sebastian cleared his throat. _Friends._

_……………………………………………………………………………_


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please gimme some kudos!

Ciel remembered, with vivid clarity, the first time someone tried to kiss him.

The man was unremarkable. He had a name that sounded like many others. He was so repugnant that Ciel hadn’t wondered why this man needed to pay for sex. Ciel watched as the man spiked his drink and hadn’t said anything. He drank it anyway, pretending he didn’t notice the obvious taste. It was the oldest trick in the pervert’s handbook but Ciel willingly took the bait. The less he remembered this faceless man, the better.

The sex was nothing. Ciel didn’t feel him. His own body couldn’t even feel the sheets he knew were under his back. He clung weakly to the man’s shoulders as he fucked him, involuntary little noises escaping his drugged lips. The roof above him slipped in and out of focus and the fifteen-year-old boy paid it no mind. He wasn’t there anyway. He was some place beautiful, without the sweaty, dirty fuck suffocating his willowy limbs into the bedsheets.

Ciel was so high he couldn’t speak, but he knew when the man tried to kiss him. His loose, stubbled mouth scraped up the side of his face and came above Ciel’s. They shared a breath, the other’s bitter with beer. The miasma of the drink made Ciel flinch, sobering up enough to jerk his chin up and away from the impending kiss. It landed on the underside of his jaw instead. The man laughed. Said something that sounded like muffled music in the next room over. Said it like he was underwater.

And then, as Ciel struggled to speak, his little nails leaving welts on Unremarkable’s back, he found himself saying - “I don’t kiss.”

He hadn’t put a lot of thought into it until that point. He didn’t know what he wanted his first kiss to be like. But after Unremarkable’s beer-stained mouth so narrowly avoided his, Ciel Phantomhive knew he didn’t want to be kissed by a client. He didn’t want his first kiss to be a product, like his virginity had been. It wasn’t for sale, something to be bought and paid for. It was the only thing he could call _his_. The only piece of him untouched.

Ciel Phantomhive had never been kissed.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

L’église du Sacré-Cœur was ethereal at twilight.

Cool light spilled through dark, decorated windows as the sun finally fell below the cityscape. Two men worked in silence, dressed in black as they moved from wall to cobbled wall, the only sound between them was the _click_ of their shoes.

Claude made his way through the pews, smothering out the petite candles that illuminated the cathedral. Sebastian shadowed him, cradling Bibles in his long arms. The church was cooling considerably, and although he wore his thickest coat Sebastian couldn’t help the shivering sigh that slipped past his lips. Claude regarded him over one shoulder.

“Sebastian.” His deep, even voice broke the silence. Sebastian stilled and raised his head to look up at his superior.

“Yes, Father Faustus?” He answered. By now, the older of the two priests had extinguished nearly all of the candles and the lack of light cast an ominous expression over his face.

“Are you settling in any better?” He turned and faced Sebastian fully, hands clasped in patience. Sebastian rested the stack of books on a shelf and ran his palm over the textured cover.

“I feel more at home everyday,” Sebastian said. It was true. He picked up new words every day. He figured out how to ask for groceries in a foreign language. The bed in his cottage stopped smelling like washed linen and started to smell like home. Claude gave him a polite smile, last light catching on his glasses.

“That’s good, Michaelis.” His eyes narrowed in a mirthless smile. Sebastian watched him work over the last chores of the evening and a question grew heavy on his tongue. It’s weight doubled, then tripled - and eventually grew so heavy that he could not keep it in his mouth. It came out unannounced, echoing in the cool church.

“Can I ask you a question?” He said so quickly he wasn’t sure it made sense. Claude paused, turning his head to lend him an ear.

“Yes, of course.” Sebastian tried to swallow his question back into his chest but it had gone rouge. Wild. It had a heart of it’s own.

“It’s about, um. It’s about prostitutes.” He murmured the last word. Claude’s jaw twitched.

“What about them?” Sebastian wrung his hands, breathing out slowly so the older priest wouldn’t hear how shaky his breath was. In the dark he couldn’t read the Claude’s eyes.

“I wanted to know… why do you think they’re not worth saving?” He wished to bite back the words as soon as he said them, heart aching at the sight of Claude’s nose twitching in contempt. Sebastian stared back down to the Bible in his hand, hoping he seemed as casual as he intended the question to be. He thought of the way Ciel smiled when he said his father didn’t miss him.

“Sebastian,” he used his first name like the other was a child. “You know as well as I do, that prostitution is a sin.”

“I know that Father but-” the look on Claude’s face made him stop mid-sentence. _But what?_ He could see the man’s words without him having spoken. His dad would have said that, too. Claude stepped closer and placed a wide, condescending palm against the younger man’s shoulder.

“You’re asking a lot of questions about whores. Did something happen?” He stared into Sebastian’s eyes, his eyes the colour of the dying park and he narrowed them like he could read the lies off the other’s features. He studied his face for so long that Sebastian held his breath the entire time. When he finally let go the younger breathed. His heart reanimated. The insects outside began to chirp again. Claude gave him a knowing smile, like he had read him all the way through as easily as a child’s book.

“Nothing happened, I just -”

“You needn’t concern yourself with them, Michaelis. And don’t make contact with them either.” He paused and looked at Sebastian as if he knew the man had already made _plenty_ of contact with one. He could still smell the smoke from Ciel’s cigarette. “They’re not like you and I. They don’t want to be saved, and they will hurt you if you try to help them. Trust me.”

Sebastian pressed his lips into a tight, worried line. “All of them?”

The final candle made the shadows on his face dance. He smiled with his mouth but not with his eyes. The eldest priest leaned in and smothered the last flame, the miasma of sweet smoke dancing up to the high heavens. 

“All of them,” he said to the dark, and they were all alone in the night together.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian rolled his shoulder and heard it pop. He sighed, kneading the tight tension with his thumb, crouched over on the foot of his bed. His back ached from moving crates full of donated clothes to a warehouse halfway across town - by hand. No horse, no cart. Only he and his aching skeleton. He rolled them back again, tilting his head until it cracked. 

In the warmth of his cabin he had shrugged off his coat and was only wearing his buttoned shirt, sleeves rolled over the elbows and his suspenders pulled tight over his tense chest. He was on his second cup of tea, staring pointedly at the fireplace as he avoided thinking about the root cause of all his problems. The young priest tugged at the ends of his dark hair, wondering if any had turned grey yet. He wouldn’t be surprised if it all suddenly fell out. His soul ached with lies and confusion.

Like the devil had heard his misfortunes, a sudden rustle sounded outside the night-cloaked cottage. Sebastian raised his head at the familiar sound, hand perfectly still on his cup of tea. He strained to listen for another noise - and there it was! The tell-tale shuffling of boots through snow, and the quietest, most pompous curse word whispered to the stars. Sebastian’s skin pricked.

He put the cup down on the kitchen table and went to the window, pulling back the curtains to watch with growing amusement as the little shadow encroached closer to his door.

“It’s late,” he said dumbly. His little visitor grunted at him and ducked under the bridge of his arm to slip into the warmth of the cabin. Sebastian shut the door after him, skin pebbling at the cool outside. He smelt Ciel as he slipped past, a thick miasma of alcohol tangled up in his shiny hair.

“Well, you _are_ awake,” Ciel butted. He lifted his injured chin into the light, watched as Sebastian took note of him. His cheeks went ruddy as the priest made a careful circle around the drunkard. He swayed on his feet.

“I couldn’t sleep. There was something wrecking havoc in the garden.” Sebastian narrowed his eyes but his mouth turned up at the teenager’s flustered cheeks. He rolled that one, terrible blue eye.

“I thought we were friends now.” Sebastian stopped pacing. Ciel’s liquor lips pursed.

“We are.” They both released a breath. The priest took the opportunity to step in and grab the cool curve of Ciel’s scraped chin. He moved it side to side, examining the wounded flesh as his thumb moved over the fat swell of Ciel’s lower lip. It dipped into the cut that marred the otherwise flawless flesh and the boy hissed. 

“Don’t just grab at me,” Ciel jerked his head up but the priest squeezed his jaw harder. He wasn’t done looking. He gave the fleshy skin of Ciel’s cheeks a nice squeeze, just to taunt him.

“Surely your business is suffering with this _hm?_ It’s not very handsome.” He tapped the sore skin, voice sing-song. He took his hand away when Ciel bared his teeth like a rabid pup.

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m ‘andsome,” Ciel muttered and Sebastian flinched. His nose twitched and he tilted his head again to crack it. 

“Would you kiss your mother with a mouth like that?” Sebastian clicked his teeth at him and Ciel bristled.

“My mother is dead,” he mumbled. He sat down at the kitchen table like he lived there, eye darting around the room. The other suddenly felt very vulnerable and followed his gaze as if it might lead to something embarrassing. Satisfied, Ciel leaned back in his seat and watched the fire flicker. Sebastian was suddenly aware that he didn’t know what to do - or how to entertain his sudden house guest.

Ciel reached out and took Sebastian’s abandoned cup of tea, bought it to his nose and gave it a little sniff. Then he sipped at it, and with a pleasant hum he resettled before the fireplace and finished the last of the other’s tea. That’s when Sebastian realised he didn’t need to entertain Ciel - he was capable of it himself.

The boy raised his eyebrow at the taller man, who was still hovering awkwardly in the room. He sat at that, chair scraping across the wood as he settled across from the mildy-sober boy. The time passed in a gentle hush, nothing but the _tink_ of a teaspoon against china and the creaking of wood as Sebastian finally relaxed into his chair too.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke sore.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up without a hangover, a stiff back and a sore ass. He raked his fingers through his long, knotted hair and groaned. The itchy knit jumper was too large for him, the winter air finding it’s way under the baggy sleeves and pebbling his skin. The boy rolled out of bed and splashed his face, rubbing at the circles under his eyes with the heel of his palm.

He looked up into the mottled mirror and made the same face Sebastian did every time he swore. A flinch. He hated how he looked without his eyepatch on. Ciel touched the tender skin around his bad eye. Without the patch his face looked so much more exposed. He was nervous of his own looks. His second eyebrow was mussed and he smoothed it down with his ring finger. He stared at the white, unmoving chunk of glass in place of his pupil and looked away from it. He couldn’t bare how ugly he looked. He tied his eyepatch quickly.

He was halfway through worming out of the oversized jumper when he heard a polite knock on his door. The sound was so familiar that Ciel didn’t even wonder who it was. He threw the offending heap of mustard fabric in the corner and headed down the stairs to greet his visitor. A visitor who always dressed like he was going to a funeral. 

Ciel flicked his eye over Sebastian’s black coat, black gloves, dark eyes and hair. Hair that he tucked back with ebony fingers on sight of Ciel, a little smile pulling up on his lips. It would have been endearing if the priest wasn’t so huge and intimidating.

“You don’t know when to give up, do you?” The priest smiled at that. He held up a brown paper bag and Ciel could see the butter stains already seeping through. His stomach betrayed him and grumbled audibly. Sebastian was such a gentleman that he didn’t gloat… _much_.

“Ahh now, I thought we were in the habit of showing up at each other’s places unannounced?” He smirked. Ciel’s heart rolled over in it’s skeleton grave. He swallowed, feeling like death warmed up, standing in front of the most radiant man in Europe.

“What’s in the bag?” He asked. He already knew. He crossed his arms and acted like he didn’t really care but the glint in Sebastian’s eyes told him he’d already lost. He waved the bag back and forth.

“Take a walk with me and find out.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The two men ate pastries side-by-side in the abandoned park.

The boy sucked butter off his fingers with all the grace of a vulture. Sebastian watched, nose crinkling at the vivid pop Ciel’s mouth made as it came off his greasy fingers. He’d wolfed through two already and the priest was picking apart his first bit-by-bit. Ciel eyed it.

“Do you want mine?” Sebastian lifted the remains of his pastry and Ciel turned his chin up as if he were insulted. Sebastian wanted to laugh.

“Gross.” The priest huffed, tearing off another chunk of buttery, flakey crust to pop into his mouth. He watched as Ciel crumpled the brown bag between his hands, his willowy wrists sneaking out from the ends of his coat. He could have easily wrapped his thumb and forefinger around the skinny patch of flesh. He chewed thoughtfully, eyes following his little wrists down to his long, narrow legs.

“You’re too thin,” he blurted. Ciel jerked his head up and stared at Sebastian like he’d just _spit_ on him. The priest pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, stomach turning. He never knew when to shut up. His big mouth had always gotten him into trouble.

“I’m not thin,” Ciel raised his eyebrow, plucking at a stray thread on his trousers. “I’m _petite_.”

“I’m concerned you aren’t eating enough.” Ciel snorted, shooting Sebastian a look that could sink a thousand ships.

“Is this because I wouldn’t eat your second-‘and croissant?” Sebastian finally laughed, so honestly that it surprised the both of them. He couldn’t help the way his teeth showed through his smile. Ciel watched him like he had two heads, eye wide and buttery mouth parted a little. He turned his head to smile at the empty parklands. When he looked back the mirth was gone, replaced by a well-practiced glare.

“Trust me. I get _plenty_ to eat,” he drawled. He said it in such a way that it made the priest’s cheeks hot and he didn’t mention it again.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The next night Ciel came again.

Sebastian heard the rustle, the stumble in the dark, and then the tiniest knock on his door. As the boy slipped into his apartment he looked drunk again, cheeks and ears pink. The level of intoxication it took for him to walk all this way and hop over the fence of the Sacred Heart church. Tonight his neck was littered with dark bruises, smattered collarbone to chin.

“It’s late,” Sebastian said (like he always said). He resisted the urge to touch the marks on Ciel’s throat. The boy gave him a hard look, like he was reading his mind.

“You’re awake,” Ciel murmured. They did the same old dance. He stared pointedly at Sebastian’s cup of tea and the priest picked it up off the table before the boy could drink it. He started to make a fresh cup. He glanced up, stirring honey with a little, silver spoon.

“What happened to your neck?” He tapped the china twice. Ciel laughed, fingers dancing across the table top. His eye shone with the confidence of several drinks, mouth quirking up casually.

“Are you a virgin or what?” The priest felt a cool chill race up his spine making his hair raise and his skin hot. He swallowed, glancing down at the cup of tea he’d prepared for the boy. His cheeks burnt. Ciel sat up straighter in his chair.

“You’re a virgin,” he said, this time not a question. Sebastian didn’t need to raise his head to know that his eye was wide, mouth open a little. He was probably smiling too. The priest presented the fresh cup to his midnight visitor.

“Did someone do that to your neck?” Sebastian couldn’t lift his head. He looked at Ciel through the cut of his eyelashes, heart trembling and nervous like bird wings. Ciel pressed his lips together and cocked his head, both hands around the teacup. He nodded and the priest finally raised his head.

“Did it hurt?” Ciel made that gentle, airy laugh again. He took one hand from his tea to brush over the dark bruises. Sebastian watched as he touched, Ciel’s eye lidding as if recalling. “It ‘urts in a good way.”

Sebastian frowned, watching Ciel’s thumb dip into his clavicle beneath the thin collar of his shirt. The bruises went lower. “How can it _hurt_ in a good way?”

Ciel’s hand stopped, his lashes lifted and he shot Sebastian a wise, amused little smile. His other hand flirted with the teacup, pinky tracing the delicate rim. When he tilted his head his long hair shifted and fell to one side of his neck.

“You really are a virgin, aren’t you?”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It became habit.

Ciel appeared every night or so, always late - and always drunk. Sebastian would fix him a cup of tea with an unhealthy amount of honey stirred through. Sebastian tried not to ask too many personal questions, and Ciel tried not to bite his head off.

The next morning the priest would show up at his apartment with breakfast, and they would eat side-by-side in the abandoned park. Sometimes Ciel would bring a book with him but most days they spoke. The teenager was captivated with anything Sebastian had to say about home - a subject he loved to palaver on. He let the priest babble on about Montana, only stopping him to ask questions about how it looked, how it smelt.

One morning Ciel asked him what horse’s hair felt like and the priest laughed, heart light and grinning. Ciel’s cheeks went dark and he swatted Sebastian for laughing at him. The American explained it best he could, Ciel listening patiently with a half-finished pastry in his hand. Apparently it was so interesting that the kid could ignore his ritual devastation of breakfast.

“What do they smell like?” He asked next. “Can they feel if you pull on their ‘air? Are they big?” Sebastian raised an eyebrow, secretly admiring how the kid’s face relaxed and uplifted into something curious. It made him seem younger. It made Sebastian seem interesting in comparison to the vibrant, whirlwind teenager.

Ciel rolled a cigarette between his little fingers as the priest spoke, staring out at the park, deep in thought. Every word Sebastian said became something to mull over, fuel for a fire the priest had no control over. The boy stuck the smoke between his lips, frowning as he patted his pocket for the small box of matches he carried.

“They aren’t upset if you do that?” He struck a match, lit the cigarette with that aroma that made Sebastian’s nose twitch.

“No, they can’t feel it but -” He stopped mid sentence as Ciel drew in a deep breath and closed his eye. When he exhaled, the blue smoke drifted up and dissipated in a puff of withering tobacco. He plucked the burning stick from Ciel’s mouth before he could take another draw.

“This?” Sebastian held the offending object up to his eyes. “This isn’t good for your body.”

Ciel swallowed, his eyes locking in on the way the priest held the cigarette between his long fingers. His teeth bared and the priest braced himself for a storm - that never came. Ciel watched with subdued acceptance, as the body of his cigarette was dropped, crushed and smothered across the dead grass.

“Thank you, _docteur_.” He drawled, unamused.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian woke to a thump on the door.

It was late. He’d waited up till midnight for the boy but he didn’t show. In the dim fire-light Sebastian could read that it was three o’clock in the morning. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, body protesting as he pulled back the covers and stood up in the chilly room. The door thumped again.

Ciel slumped against the doorframe, the miasma of cheap booze about him. He rolled his eye up to the taller man, squinting in the dark. Sebastian was only wearing loose linen pants and a nightshirt. He raised his arm so the small thing could duck under it and go to his usual spot.

“It’s late,” Sebastian said, his voice still gravely from sleep.

“I know,” he drawled, and pushed past Sebastian into the warmth of the cabin. He stumbled when he walked and when he took a seat at the table he hissed and grabbed at his side.

“What happened?” Ciel leaned over the table and shuddered with his whole body.

“Nothing ‘appened.” Ciel looked up for the first time and Sebastian could see that his eye was wet and the split on his lip had reopened. His mouth was brilliant with blood and the high rises of his cheekbones were pink and mottled.

“Ciel. _What happened_.” He didn’t ask. His knuckles turned white as he balled them by his sides. Ciel turned his cheek.

“Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?” He reached for Ciel’s jaw but he jerked it away from him. The priest’s hand hovered awkwardly before him. Ciel breathed out, staggered like he was aching.

“Are you mad at me?” He breathed. His tone was unsure, borderline childish and Sebastian swallowed. His hands shook. The blood on the boy’s mouth oozed sluggishly down his chin. His cheek looked swollen but it was hard to tell in the light.

“I’m not mad. I’m worried.” The boy was so wasted he didn’t notice the thick drop of blood roll off his chin and onto the table below. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck. His teeth were pink with blood.

“You are really stupid,” Ciel slurred. He looked into the dark at something that wasn’t there. Sebastian locked his jaw and ran a trembling hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

“I’m stupid?” His voice shook. Ciel nodded slowly. “You’re _bleeding_ on my table.”

The boy finally looked down at the blood drops, black in the dark. He reached up to touch his chin like he couldn’t believe it, fingers coming back red and his eyebrow raised. He snorted, throat thick with it.

“I’m bleeding,” he frowned. His face fell and he looked so vulnerable that the priest’s shoulders sagged and he stared at the roof, begging for a divine intervention.

“Why are you bleeding Ciel?” He asked the rafters. The boy breathed through his wet nose again, the priest heard him clean the blood with the back of his shirt sleeve.

“I was in a fight,” he mumbled. Sebastian clenched his jaw and jabbed his tongue into his cheek. He turned his back to Ciel to gather a cloth up in his hand and dampen it with cool water. He tried to calm down at the fresh stream came down over his shaking knuckles. He breathed out as he wrung the excess water and took the cloth over to Ciel. The boy moved his chin away as he tried to dab his busted lip.

“Hold still.” Sebastian hissed as the boy slipped out of his grasp. He squeezed the boy’s jaw and gave a hard squeeze until the smaller yowled in pain.

“You’re ‘urting me!” He squealed. He thrashed out of Sebastian’s grip a second time and the priest tossed the damp cloth into the boy’s indignant face.

“Clean yourself up.” He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as Ciel ruefully held the cloth to his dirty chin. He flinched when he dabbed at the source of his own blood.

“Who were you in a fight with?” Sebastian paced around the table, following Ciel with his eyes. He was aware of how his anger was building. His mind told him to calm down, to practice the breathing exercises his mentor priest had shown him - but in the current moment, animal instinct was winning. He shook with anger.

“No one.” The anger grew.

“Who. Was. It.” He grit through his teeth. He was beginning to become out-of-control. He heard Ciel hawk the blood out of his mouth and spit it onto the priest’s dining table. The straw broke the camel’s back.

“It’s none of your business!”

“Damn it Ciel, it _is_ my business !” Sebastian’s voice came out in a horrible shout and he slammed his hands down on the tabletop, causing the china to shake. Ciel jumped out of his skin, colour rising to his cheeks as he was chastised.

“It becomes _my_ business when you come here and I see everything they’ve done to you!” Sebastian suddenly grabbed the back of Ciel’s chair and leaned in close to the boy’s pink face.

“It becomes _my_ business when you show up at _my_ home in the dead of the night bleeding!” Ciel shot out his hands to grab onto Sebastian’s arms. His small fingers dug into the man’s biceps which were as tense and imposing as the man himself.

“Get away from me!” Ciel shouted, squeezing the man’s arms but not pushing him away. Sebastian pushed one of his palms over the loud thing’s mouth and pressed down, feeling the blood slip over his palm. Ciel’s livid screams were muffled by skin.

“Shut _up_ ,” Sebastian hissed as Ciel struggled. He could feel the teenager’s fingernails digging so deep into his arms that he was being scraped under the linen. With his hand still clamped over Ciel’s mouth Sebastian leaned in nice and close, so near that his lips brushed over the back of his own knuckles. Ciel stilled.

“When I take my hand off your mouth you’ll keep it shut or you can never come back here. Do you understand me?”

Sebastian tilted his head forward ever so slightly and their foreheads met. Ciel managed the slightest of nods. _Okay_. The priest took a moment and breathed in deeply, finally banishing the rage that consumed him. He closed his eyes and both men felt it when his eyelashes brushed Ciel’s own. Sebastian nodded too, and let go. His palm was pink with spit.

Ciel sucked in a shaky, unstable breath and tears pricked in his eye. Sebastian watched, matching his nervous breath, as a tear rattled out and slid down the boy’s nose. Another fell, welling above his lip. Ciel pressed his shaking palms into both eyes.

“Ciel,” he started, staring at the destruction he’d done. The boy hid his face into the junction of his shoulder but his breath was thick and syrupy. His hair stuck to the fat tears collecting under his jawline. Sebastian stepped forward but the other kept him at bay with his hand.

“I’m not c-crying,” he stuttered, wiping at his cheeks as the tears kept soaking them. His breath was sticky, thick. “I’m just _really_ drunk.”

Sebastian watched him fall apart, shoulders down. His fingers still trembled from losing control. Ciel looked so tiny, the priest could still feel his miniature jaw crushed under the breadth of his hand. He wiped the pink saliva onto the linen of his pants. Ciel drew his legs in close to his body and tried to suffocate the sounds he was making into the crook of his arm.

The priest’s heart clenched. He stepped in, leaned over the boy so he could hook his hands under his armpits and pull him to his feet. Without thinking, he bent his legs and hitched the small body up against his chest. Ciel squealed. He went rigid, little hands digging into the tops of the priest’s shoulders. He weighed the same as a sack of potatoes, and Sebastian easily carried him to the bed - Ciel sniffing in his ear.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel’s back hit the bed, hand under his head to support it. He blinked at the ceiling, Sebastian dipping the mattress to sit by his side. Their hips touched. Ciel couldn’t move, his fingers still buried in the folds of the other’s shirt. His face was wet and he was mortified.

“Don’t. Don’t pick me up,” he mumbled. He let go of the priest, hands coiled nervously on his own chest. Sebastian sighed, looking down at Ciel so his hair hung in front of his face.

“I’m sorry.” He brushed back the hair that had stuck to Ciel’s face with tears. The touch made Ciel’s heart feel flighty, and he turned his chin so he wouldn’t start crying again. He was so drunk. His cheeks burnt. 

He turned his head to smell the sheets he lay on. They didn’t smell like him. They smelt like unadulterated priest. Like soap, and sun-warm skin, and something entirely different that Sebastian had probably bought over with him from Montana. The boy bumped his chin into the fabric and nodded as the priest apologised to him.

“It’s fine,” he murmured in French, watching the priest frown. He kept breathing in the earthy, masculine scent of the bedsheets. Sebastian cleared his throat and stared at the boy’s boots, kicking up the delicate quilt. He reached out and began to pluck at the shoelaces on Ciel’s shoes, and the boy didn’t stop him. He kicked off his shoes and tucked his legs up closer to his body. 

Through the blurry edges of his drunkenness, everything hurt. His ribs, mostly. His chin too. He slid his hand up against his belly to prod for bruises and the man next to him gasped. His hands were on him next, pulling his shirt up higher to stare at the source of the pain.

“Ciel, this looks bad.” Ciel pressed his lips together. He couldn’t feel how much it stung. He was more concerned with the fact that Sebastian was looking at his fucking _belly-button_. Something tugged in the same spot the priest looked at. His fingers twitched. He groaned as Sebastian tugged off his wet coat and helped him curl up on his side, stomach churning. He could still taste the liquor between his teeth.

“Who were you in a fight with?” Ciel frowned at the way the corners of the priests mouth turned downwards. 

“Some asshole,” he yawned. Sebastian’s nose screwed up. “Tried to short-change me. _Mmm_ , made ‘im regret it.” He said the last part with his eye shut, flirting with sleep. The cabin was warm. The bed, soft.

“How badly did you get him?” Out of all the things he expected to hear, that wasn’t one of them. It made him open his eye and huff the slightest laugh.

“Bad enough to scar.” He swore Sebastian’s lips quirked up the tiniest bit.

“Good. Go to sleep,” he said, but Ciel was already there. He nudged his nose into the borrowed pillows and sighed. All the night’s tension left his body and he let the fire, and Sebastian’s smell, lull him to the edge of consciousness.

“Gimme a kiss goodnight,” he mumbled, just before slipping off. _Oops._ His cheeks burned and he refused to open his eye. The priest grunted. The bed moved as Sebastian stood up and walked away, mumbling something like _are you kidding me_. Ciel smirked. He passed out.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had a tattoo on his back.

Sebastian tried not to stare but the tattoo demanded his attention. It was literally staring back at him. The crude eye tattoo was inked into the boy’s milky right shoulder, just below where his hair usually ended. The priest cleared his throat and the boy gave him a sober glance.

Work had been long. He’d been distracted. He dropped a Bible while preoccupied of the idea that a prostitute was asleep in his bedroom. He hadn’t woken him - how could he have? Ciel looked so insanely peaceful when he slept, an expression Sebastian had never seen on the young boy’s face.

“How do you feel?” He broke the silence. Ciel side-glanced him, fingers balancing a cup of self-brewed tea on his knee, bent up under his chin. A drop of water fell from the crook of his elbow.

“Like ‘ell,” he ground out. He was only wearing trousers, and the priest let his eyes roam over the lily-white expanse of his lissome chest. Bruises the size of fists decorated his sides. The rest of him was near flawless, from his slender arms to his hair, bundled up into a bun to keep out of the bath he’d just had. Sebastian shrugged off his coat and hung it, then plucked Ciel’s crumpled shirt up off the floor.

“I can only imagine.” Ciel laughed at him.

“Oh, get drunk and into fist fights a lot?” Sebastian tossed the shirt onto the foot of the bed and raised his eyebrow at the jesting teenager.

“Touché.” Ciel smiled at that, tilting his head to sip at the corner of his cup. His teeth peeked at Sebastian.

“Your French is getting better,” he joked. He smiled in a way that made his cheeks round and his eye squint. The priest felt something stir his senses and suddenly he could see how mauve Ciel’s mouth was, and how the Atlantic Ocean couldn’t hold a candle to the blue of Ciel’s eye. Sebastian swallowed, lost for anything good to say. He was left to the devices of his dangerous mouth - the one always getting him in trouble.

“Stay for lunch,” he said quickly. He stared too long at the boy’s skinny ribs. His clavicle. The way his belly-button dipped into his flat stomach. “You look like a skeleton.”

Ciel’s face fell and the side of his jaw twitched as he turned his nose up at the offending priest. It was the expression Sebastian was most familiar with anyway, and perhaps the one he liked best.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 


	7. Sept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just called me Lemony Snicket, because this is one series of unfortunate events.
> 
> Please ask me a whole bunch of questions on my tumblr... bun-o-ween.tumblr.com

The sun was low on the horizon by the time Ciel made it home to his apartment. 

He shivered as he crossed the square to his house and flipped up the collar of his coat. He nursed a headache but he was in a fine mood despite it all. Pinching a smoke between his lips Ciel used one hand to turn the key in his door, and the other hand to jingle the handle loose. The door didn’t budge.

“Fuck you,” Ciel grit and kicked the door as hard as he could. The door unstuck itself and Ciel inelegantly stumbled forward into the mouth of his home. Before he could close the door a shadow blocked all sun from above. 

“Where were you last night?” Ciel’s heart leapt up into his throat as the undertaker pushed him through the threshold of his own home and shut the door behind them both.

“I was working,” he muttered. The narrow space of his hallway began to fill with cigarette smoke.

“Working, huh.” He echoed. The undertaker crowded him into the wall. Ciel nodded, and pressed his little hand into the undertaker’s bicep. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. ”You didn't come home until noon."

Ciel swallowed. "It was a big night." His head hit the wall behind him, the rest of his body followed. The undertaker pressed their chests together.

"You wouldn't lie to me right?" The undertaker purred. His head turned, his mouth pressed to the cold stud in Ciel's ear. The teenager shuddered and tried to back further into the wooden wall. His lip worried cherry red. The wall creaked as it took on both their weight. Lips brushed the tense column of his throat. Fingers toyed with the high-rise front of his trousers.

"I'd n-never lie to you," Ciel lied. Hot breath fanned over his neck as the other laughed. His trouser buttons were pulled apart. The fabric went slack and slid down the boy's hips, his dip of his naked spine straightening as he shied from the eager touch.

“You’re chewing your lip,” the taller man mouthed against his skin. His eyelashes tickled Ciel’s cheek. His smirk kissed the teenager’s jaw. Ciel’s fingers left permanent creases in the other’s shirt. “You chew your lip when you’re nervous… or lying.”

Ciel lowered his head. His legs spread instinctively as the other moved between them, his trousers twisted around his coltish thighs. He sucked in a shaking breath as rough hips bit up against his, grazing him between the splintering wood and the other’s stiff cock.

“Stop,” Ciel mumbled. His whisper was lost to the movement of the other’s hair. A broad hand collected the back of his own hair and tugged his head back. The other grabbed the fleshy curve of his ass and gripped him apart so hard his boots tip-toed on the scuffed timber.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” the undertaker admitted. He rutted against Ciel like he wasn’t in control, his fistful of Ciel’s hair acting like a handle. Ciel’s hands reached for the back of his head, pushed away his chest, tried to claw at the wall behind him. All his protests were trapped behind his grit teeth.

“Love how tight you get when you’re scared,” the other muttered. The fingers squeezing his ass spread apart, pried Ciel open until he was squirming into his landlord’s chest to escape the dry kiss of his finger. He whined when the touch came, when the taller man forced his finger inside his body to the knuckle. He focused on the wall behind the undertaker and began to shut down. His knees shook. The walls closed in around him.

“When you didn’t come home last night I thought you might have run away from me.” The undertaker didn’t look at his face when he said it. He stared down at his hand and forced the rest of his finger into Ciel. The boy thrashed, head hitting the wall as he pressed his lips together to stop the whimper. The undertaker shushed him, peppering hard little kisses on his cheeks.

“I would _never_ -” Ciel was cut off when his hair was dropped in favour for his throat. In turn the teenager dropped the other’s shirt and tried to pry his fingers off his neck. The undertaker squeezed so hard the boy choked.

“I raised you, Ciel. No one else wanted you and I took you in.” He punctuated his point with a searing jab of his finger. Ciel’s body tried to force him out. His vision blurred as his throat was squeezed harder. “You can whore around all you want at night but you will always come home to me. Do you understand?”

Ciel couldn’t answer. His body submitted to the undertaker’s as his breathing stopped. His guardian inched another finger into his shaking, paling body.

“I said, _do you understand!_ ” He throttled Ciel. Shoved his neck back hard, let his skull connect with the woodwork. He let him go, just enough for his breath to spill out over trembling lips.

“I’ll never leave you,” Ciel said hoarsely. His heart quivered. His fingers hung loose on the crook of the other’s arm. He squeezed the undertaker’s shoulders to reassure him. The undertaker kept his two fingers crooked in the boy, unmoving. Possessive.

“And if you do?” Ciel’s skin ran hot then cold. Tears pricked in his seeing eye. He turned his head as the other came down to nuzzle at his throat.

“You’ll kill me,” he answered. The same answer every time. He felt the undertaker nod, and a damp kiss being pressed between his eyes. His free hand curled around his nape, thumb flirting with the dip in Ciel’s clavicle.

“Good boy.”

And when the undertaker had fucked him, and left him naked on the floorboards, Ciel finally screamed into his hands, then hit the floor until his fists were numb and bruised. His stomach churned and he pressed his forehead to the cold floor to stop the lunch Sebastian made from coming back up his throat.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel dreamt of Sebastian.

He dreamt of soft linen that smelt like soap, cologne and sunshine. He dreamt of a unfathomable warmth and laziness in his limbs, and the pressure of a body pressing down into his. He dreamt of Sebastian cupping his face between his warm palms and staring down at him with that pissed off expression. 

He dreamt of Sebastian’s forehead resting against his, of their noses pressing together, the heat radiating off the priest’s skin that smelt like warm bread and tea. He dreamt of how dark Sebastian’s eyes had looked when he’d leaned in close to him. He dreamt of Sebastian’s breath so close to his mouth that he was breathing it in, tasting it. 

He dreamt of Sebastian’s warm, dry lips brushing over his own, of the man above him pressing their mouths together and kissing him – and then he woke up.

He woke up cold and alone in his lumpy, starchy bed linen. He squeezed his eye shut, trying desperately to pull the fleeting dream back to him, but it was too late.

Ciel reached up in the dark to brush his fingertips over his own mouth. His lips were cool and chapped. The boy curled up on his side and swallowed the lump in his throat, all the way down till it sat and weighed heavily in his stomach.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian stifled a yawn as he watched the morning crowd leave the doors of his church.

A beautiful blonde woman paused as he said goodbye, her eyes lingering long enough to make the priest blush. Sebastian had seen her before. He was beginning to recognise the locals. He made it a habit - to people watch. He noticed the proper women roped into their finest garb, their silk skirts swishing past the pews. He watched old men holding their hats to their chests with their wrinkled, worn hands. He saw a familiar family of four lingering by the doorway. Today the father and the son were in disagreement.

The little boy was staring with defiance at his father, who was trying to drag the boy out of church without causing a scene. The father’s hand was gripped tightly around the boy’s arm but the tighter he squeezed the more the boy resisted him. Sebastian frowned. Eventually the boy relented, and was pulled reluctantly from the church.

Eventually Sebastian retired to his apartment and brewed himself a cup of tea. When he sat down and tried to shrug the day’s events off his shoulders he could think only of the obstinate young boy and his relentless father. How very similar, it had seemed, to the relationship between Sebastian and his own father.

He had no fond memories of his father. His entire relationship with his daddy could be summed up by the display he had just seen in the Sacred Heart church. An act with three part. _Pride, force and submission_.

And while Sebastian looked exactly like his father, that was where the similarities ended. He had been a passionate and wild young boy. He had a spirit that his mother referred to as akin with the horses his father broke. In years to come, after his mother was buried and decomposed in the paddocks, his dad would say the same thing - but without the fondness his mother’s tone would take.

_Nothing but a colt._

His childhood was a game. His father would say don’t run. Sebastian ran. His father said don’t swear. Sebastian swore. He would belt him every time he broke his rules, until eventually the boy had no more rule-breaking left in him. His father had domesticated him.

The priest’s mouth quirked up as he imagined what his father might say now. Sebastian’s eyes flicked over the rumpled bed linen, the teacup unwashed by the sink. _Keeping the company of a whore? You’re a sinner._ He could hear his daddy’s words clear as the winter sky outside. His father had loved religion so much that he’d forced in onto his youngest son.

Sebastian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He cupped the tea in his hand, let it ground him as he exhaled with confidence. His dad’s opinion eased off his slumped shoulders with startling clarity as he realised he didn’t _care_ what his father thought anymore.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

There was a bridge Ciel crossed often.

It was halfway between the Sacred Heart church and Ciel’s apartment - and the boy often crossed it to visit the red-light district. The strip of seedy taverns on the other side, where everyone knew the teenager’s name. Finding male company there was easier than shooting horny fish in a barrel, but Ciel had to cross that bridge to get there.

Ciel imagined his suicide every time he crossed.

He had it planned. Detailed to the finest point. He had seen it played out so many times in his own head. He fantasised about his body slipping unnoticed beneath the black surface. He pictured the way the water would creep into his asthmatic lungs. He imagined being sucked under and his corpse spat out days later, bruised and fish-bitten. Unrecognisable. So far down stream that he wouldn’t be sent back to the undertaker.

Some nights (like tonight) Ciel would stand on the outside of the bridge and dangle one foot off the edge. His boot would trace a flirting circle with death but eventually adrenaline kicked in. He climbed back over the railing, feeling foolish.

It was Friday night. Ciel was dressed as prettily as possible - in his tight trousers and his cleanest shirt. His hair was combed neatly behind his ear, his face scrubbed clean. His collar was fastened, little black bow looped around his throat to hide the necklace of mottled bruises. He crossed the bridge and came out into the only place that still felt like home - his favourite pub.

It was on the south side of the river, squeezed between a hotel and another bar. The eerie twang of a fiddle shot out across the stirring nightlife. Anticipation tugged at a spot below the young man’s belly button. He smiled around his smoke as the noise of a raucous band screamed out onto the street. Ciel slipped inside the skinny pub as snow began to fall.

The tavern was small and packed. A bar ran alongside one wall, shelves of liquor stacked so high behind it that you couldn’t read the labels. On the other wall were mottled mirrors and framed art. There were paintings of graphic battles, semi-pornographic nudes and demons. They were all crooked, and none of the frames matched. There was also a patch of red wall dedicated to photographs of prostitutes. 

“Ciel!” A deep, familiar voice boomed out over the music and a solid blonde man grabbed him from the crowd. Ciel was pulled into a niche by the wall. A round table of familiar men were absorbed in a semi-violent game of cards. The blonde man pressed a hard, dry kiss into the side of his neck and Ciel glowed warm all over. 

“Bard,” he smiled. Just like a favourite pub, he had his favourite client. The chef frequented the bar as often as he frequented his arm around the narrow circle of Ciel’s waist. Bard was muscular. Big hands, shoulders. Face as excited as a dog. Skin littered in inches and inches of tattoos. He was ruggedly good-looking, and he always smelt of the kitchen he worked in. The boy went willingly as he was tugged back into the other’s lap, the two of them settling into a threadbare leather armchair.

“Gimme a kiss,” Bard growled, his hand toying with the long strands of hair on the back of Ciel’s neck. He said the same thing every Friday.

“Gimme a drink,” Ciel demanded back at him, and Bard pressed a glass of brandy into his chest. Ciel tossed it back too easy.

“Another,” he smirked. Bard shook his head.

“Uh-uh baby, give me that mouth first,” he teased. Ciel huffed, hiding the smile on his face as he cocked his head and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Bard’s jaw. The blonde grumbled, thick fingers tightening on the teenager’s hips as Ciel’s tongue rolled out across his four o’clock shadow. The chef shifted, spread Ciel’s legs apart so he could press his cock into the underside of his thigh. The boy laughed, breath cool against the kiss. His tongue travelled across to the blonde’s ear and traced the shell.

“Now give me the drink,” he whispered, in the deepest, smoothest voice he could manage. Bard groaned, hips jerking involuntarily into the hot junction of the younger’s thighs. He snatched the half-full bottle of brandy off the card table and pressed it into Ciel’s hand, who took a long drink from it. He blinked coyly over the glass at the handsome chef. Someone yelled at the both of them.

Sheepishly, the blonde shifted forward to pick up his cards, his arm still looped around Ciel. Ciel relished in the feel of it all. The music which shook the walls, the way Bard pushed his fingers into the hem of his pants, the burn of alcohol in his throat. He watched Bard play his deck and as he rested back in his chair he pressed his mouth onto Ciel’s ear. 

“When are you gonna stop teasing me and be my girlfriend huh?” He pushed his hand up Ciel’s shirt, flesh hot on the skin between his shoulder blades. He shut his eye, dug his fingers into the cracked leather of the couch. He spread his thighs over Bard’s muscled leg.

“What would your wife think of that?” Ciel retorted and Bard only smiled. The same thing every Friday. Bard’s hand slipped out of his shirt and under Ciel’s ass, giving him a rough squeeze. He shifted forward to play his hand and Ciel clung to him, looking through his hair at the other men at the table. Bard slapped down his cards, roaring in victory, jostling Ciel in his lap. He pressed happy kisses into the boy’s hair and Ciel played with the back of his neck.

“He’s my lucky charm!” Bard suddenly declared, lifting Ciel out of his lap and laying him on the table. Ciel laughed, squirmed and sent cards slipping to the floor as Bard ravished his neck. All eyes were on him as the strong blonde grinned, mood infectious.

“One more round boys, then I’m fucking Ciel,” he announced so proudly that Ciel blushed. He was hoisted off the table and then Bard’s blue eyes were so close to him.

“Mean it princess,” he muttered, suddenly serious. “Gonna make you feel it for days.” 

“Promises, promises,” Ciel smirked. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Ciel left the bar he was grinning.

Bard’s money sat guilt-free in his pocket. The chef’s kisses sat scarlet on his throat. His knees shook from the way the blonde had fucked him - upstairs in the hotel rooms, screams muffled into the cheap, scratchy linen. Hand and knees, like an animal. The boy rolled a cigarette, bouncing back on the balls of his feet as he hummed to himself.

He took his time heading back to the bridge. His mood, contagiously contracted from the chef, was not ready to be diminished. He loitered, dancing on the outskirts of the other taverns as their conflicting bands echoed rowdily into the night. He caught the eye of a man passing by. His lips quirked up so he could give him the slightest of smiles. Not watching where he was going, Ciel ran face first into another man’s chest and dropped his cigarette into the snow.

It hissed. He hissed. He flicked his eyes up to the offending man and his insult died on his tongue. If their meeting hadn’t been parallel enough, the man standing before him was enough to make Ciel sick with déjà vu. Dark hair. Brown eyes. A strong jawline and broad shoulders.

“Are you alright?” The pseudo-Sebastian asked, big hand braced on Ciel’s arm. The perfect French cracked the illusion, but not enough to make Ciel’s heart crawl back down into his chest.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The pseudo-Sebastian fucked like he spoke. Clean, crisp - and with little messing about. Ciel’s back was cold against the brick wall of the alley, his fingers clutching desperately to the taller man’s waistcoat. With his nose pressed into the Frenchman’s neck, and his eye half-lidded, he could almost imagine it was the priest fucking into him, against the side of a hotel.

“Oh _god_.” Ciel whined, throwing his head back and exposing his neck to the starry night. His spine was damp, shirt soiled as it was thrust up and down the brickwork. His hair stuck to his neck. His gasps appeared like little ghosts, clouds of ecstasy floating up towards the moon before disappearing forever. The fake-Sebastian leaned in and pressed his mouth onto the notch on Ciel’s throat. He did it so tenderly that for a second the boy lost his mind.

“F-fuck me, _Sebastian_.” Ciel pressed his lips tight together as soon as the words left him. His cheeks burnt. He screwed his eye shut and buried his face back into The Fake’s three-piece suit. If the other had cared, his movements didn’t reflect it. He kept burying himself between Ciel’s legs until he came, wet moans into the boy’s ear. The teenager didn’t let go of him.

“What is it?” The Fake mumbled, eyes glazed over. His hips rolled lazily. The boy shook his head, voice caught in the same place the man had kissed him.

“Nothing.” The boy exhaled as his feet touched the ground, half-hard and irritated. He couldn’t look The Fake in the eyes when coins were pressed into the cup of his sweaty palm.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian liked groceries.

It was such a menial and domestic task that it embarrassed him to admit it. His hand curled around the brown, paper parcel of potatoes he had tucked in one arm. His other hand picked through fresh fruit. The smell that came up off the morning markets was divine - and the closest thing he’d experienced to home since he had left. As his thumb dipped into the groove of a fresh peach, his eyes flicked up and came into contact with Ciel’s hair.

The shade was bespoke. He could not have mistaken it, and especially at such length. The boy was doing the same as he, picking through the morning’s fresh harvest as he babbled away in lazy French. The priest felt a certain tug of envy as he approached the grey-haired boy from behind.

“Bonjour Ciel, comment allez-vous?”

Ciel perked up, spinning around so quickly he almost lost the muddy potatoes pinned to his chest. His eye widened at the priest, throat dipping as he took the other in. His mouth turned down and he looked anxiously to the left of them.

“I need to speak to you,” Ciel said quickly. He surrendered the potatoes, let them roll back into their display as he dusted the dirt from his chest. They slipped away from the crowd, Sebastian’s heart pricking at the sudden, ominous turn his morning had taken.

“Ciel, what’s wrong?” He lifted his hand to grace the side of the teenager’s cheek but Ciel jerked back. He closed himself off to the other, bit by bit. When Sebastian stared, he could see the boy had rebuilt the wall between them when he hadn’t been looking.

“I don’t want to see you anymore,” Ciel bit. He looked down at his shoes and squared his shoulders. Sebastian’s hand still hovered between them, useless.

“What?”

Ciel crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. His hair fell out of place and bunched on the lip of his coat. Sebastian wanted to brush it back into perfect place but Ciel was thin ice. He had to tread carefully.

“I thought we were friends.” The boy shrugged again, arms hugged around his own chest. He had circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were sunken in. His little fingers pulled at the bunching of his sleeves.

“We were _never_ friends. A priest and a prostitute?” He laughed, joyless. There was nothing sparkling behind his heavy-set, stone eye. “You’re so stupid Sebastian. I was never going to change.”

The priest swallowed, eyes following the nervous line of Ciel’s body. He seemed to back further and further away, and Sebastian followed like a kicked dog. It was like the day they had met, played back in reverse as sickening speed.

“I don’t want you to change,” Sebastian said dumbly. He was still holding onto his own potatoes, his fist wrapped around the peach he hadn’t recalled stealing. Ciel made that small, miserable laugh again and shook his head. His hair fell around his face.

“ _Bullshit_.” Sebastian flinched. “Why else would you want to be my friend?” 

“Ciel, I don’t understand -”

“I’m not going to stop fucking people for money,” Ciel growled, loud enough for people to turn their heads. Sebastian’s skin prickled. His rage stirred.

“I don’t-”

“I’m a _whore_ ,” Ciel said harshly, his voice wavering. “I always will be so why are you still ‘ere?”

Sebastian flushed hot. He stepped in nice and close to Ciel and stared down at the top of his head. Ciel raised his gaze, looking bored. It only made Sebastian angrier.

“Fine,” Sebastian growled. His fists curled up so hard they shook. “I’ll leave you alone.” He gave Ciel a long, hard look, committing him to memory. 

He took another deep breath, but then Ciel left before he could walk away.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian carelessly tossed another Bible on top of the stack in his arms.

The sun had moved below the horizon and the church was illuminated by several large candles. It was Sebastian’s duty as the youngest to clean the church nightly. Claude had already gone home for the evening, to the nice house he often boasted about. This meant Sebastian was left all alone with his thoughts, _and bo_ y, he had a temper.

Sebastian slammed another heavy book into his pile. A familiar feeling sat heavy in his gut. His father’s words followed him around the church. _Paris is going to eat you alive_. His father’s words echoed out into the dark church. Sebastian sighed, image of Ciel fast asleep in his bed on constant replay behind his tired eyes. _What a fool I’ve been_ , came his own voice.

He reached the end of the pews and stacked the Bibles into their places on the bookshelf. His shoulders fell as he realised everyone had been right, except for him. Ciel, unsurprisingly, had been the most grounding. How could the two of them be friends? How much of it had Sebastian simply made up in his own mind? The breakfasts. The tea. The comfortable silences. The hairs pricked up on the back of his neck as he realised he was not alone.

Ciel was pressed into the shadows at the back of the church. His slim body flirted between the light and dark, fingers resting on a marble bust of a saint. He watched Sebastian with an undecipherable expression. When the priest said nothing, he came closer.

“How did you get in?” He pretended to look for something on the shelf. He plucked a book at random and kept his eyes on the cover. Ciel’s boots scuffed the stone as he stepped up onto the raised platform with the young priest.

“The doors aren’t locked,” Ciel said. His finger traced over the polished wood of the lectern. Sebastian finally raised his head to look at the boy. He gave Sebastian the smallest of smiles.

“I’m claiming sanctuary.” Sebastian sighed. He put down the book and watched as Ciel stepped a circle around him. He came to stop at the bookshelf, shoulder pressing into the wood as he stared up at the taller man. He waited for the longest time, face prettier than all the angels around him.

“I thought you didn’t want to see me,” Sebastian said dumbly, setting his jaw. Ciel blinked, at last. His hand played sheepishly with the side of his shirt. He chewed at his bottom lip.

“I was wrong,” he admitted quickly. Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat.

“Sorry. I didn’t hear what you said.” He bit back the smirk on his lips. Ciel flicked his eye up at him, lip still between his teeth and he glared.

“I was _wrong_.” Sebastian felt a terrible weight lift off his shoulders. He’d never felt happier.

“Stop smiling! It looks stupid.” Ciel barked, but it only made him grin wider. He swatted the priest’s shoulder and the glint of the bottle in his coat pocket caught the priest’s eye.

“What’s that?”

Ciel touched the lid, shrugging. “Whiskey. Do you want to drink it with me?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. He blinked owlishly at the stupid question. The priest laughed.

“Are you insane?” He asked dryly. Ciel’s eye lit up with something dangerous.

“Are you?” Sebastian smiled despite it. He shook his head, staring at the lined books next to Ciel’s shoulder. He felt something young and wild prick at his dormant heart. He stared at the bottle, still tucked away in the boy’s oversized coat.

“Tell me you’re sorry.” Ciel hung his head. He nodded, looking up through his devastating eyelashes to fix Sebastian with the most somber, soulful gaze he’d ever been under.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, sincerely. Sebastian let his knuckles graze the side of his cheek. The boy didn’t pull away.

“I forgive you,” Sebastian said. His voice echoed out into the stone building. He looked again at the liquor, then reached out for the boy’s hand. When the teenager placed his warm palm into the centre of Sebastian’s, the priest curled his fingers around him and tugged him out through the back entrance.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian stared at the honey-coloured drink in his hand.

“I didn’t _say_ I was going to drink it.” Ciel clicked his teeth. _Tch_. He poured a second glass for himself and tucked his knees up under him. He was sitting on the foot of Sebastian’s bed and the priest stood before him, looking at the liquor in his hands.

“Sebastian, drink it,” the boy barked. “Do something bad for once in your life It’s just one drink.”

Sebastian smiled privately and thumbed the glass edge of the drink. His heart was skipping in his chest. The room felt a little too warm. He bundled all his nervous energy up into a smirk. “What makes you think I’ve never done anything bad?”

“Because,” Ciel tongued the corner of his mouth. “Your ‘ands are shaking.” He laughed as the priest breathed out, audibly shaking. His father had let him sip liquor sometimes. Late at night, or when he was sick. The burn wasn’t unfamiliar but things were different tonight.

“Go on,” Ciel urged. He tilted up his own glass and took a drink, not breaking eye contact. The priest watched with a dry throat. He laughed softly, nervous. He raised his glass and tossed the whole thing back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It wasn’t _just one drink_.

It was several, the total amount lost as they abandoned their glasses to pass the bottle back and forth between them. Sebastian was next to Ciel on the bed, flat on his back and looking up at the rafters. His body was warm. He couldn’t lift his limbs up off the bed. He felt good. He watched Ciel’s mouth move as the boy babbled on about something, curled up on his knees beside the priest.

Ciel asked about his home-town. He asked about his father. The liquor unlocked Ciel’s guarded face and his nose twitched as Sebastian described his dad. Told him about the way he’d belt him for anything, and how he’d forced him to go to church. He told Ciel everything. Gave himself away to the eighteen-year-old because he’d never had someone to give himself away to before.

“I think I hate him,” Sebastian admitted, still on the topic of home. The words were in his heart and then suddenly out in the warm room. Ciel shrugged, playing with the whiskey bottle in his hand.

“You’re allowed to ‘ate your father,” he said. His thumb picked at the bottle’s label. His hair moved as Ciel blinked something back. “I can’t even remember mine.”

Sebastian swallowed thickly. The boy’s cheeks went dark, looking down at his hands instead of up at the priest. His mouth was wet with the drink, pulling his alcohol far better than the priest. Sebastian wanted to touch the boy’s face but he couldn’t lift his arm off the bedsheets. He must have looked as pathetic as he felt, because Ciel suddenly huffed at him.

“You can’t ‘andle your liquor,” he teased. He took another drink. Sebastian’s fingers twitched in the sheets.

“I’ve never been drunk before.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, head weighing twenty tonne as he raised it from the bed and got up on his elbows. Ciel laughed at him. It was such a nice laugh to be taunted with.

“I’ve never been to church before tonight,” Ciel tilted his head. His mouth quirked up competitively. Sebastian took the bottle from him.

“I’ve never broken into a building.” He narrowed his eyes but he was smiling. He couldn’t contain his smile with the liquor in him. Ciel snickered, laying down on his side so they could be level. He propped his head up with his elbow and chewed his bottom lip.

“I’ve never been overseas. Or ridden a ‘orse.” He took the bottle back from the priest, who thrummed with secret pride. It sounded so exciting, when Ciel repeated his life back to him like that. He considered the teenager beside him, vibrant and experienced, looking at him like he was worthy of that frightful attention.

“I’ve never been kissed,” Sebastian said dumbly. He kissed the whiskey bottle instead, upended another hearty shot into his mouth. His body pricked happily. Ciel shifted beside him, staring at the side of his head with a frown.

“I’ve never been kissed, either.” Sebastian choked. Whiskey sprayed out over his chin, the boy snatching the bottle away from him as Sebastian dabbed the spilt drink off his throat with his shirt sleeve. His heart was racing.

“What? But you’re -”

“ _I know_ ,” Ciel growled. He tucked his hair behind his ear, cheeks still that permanent hue of embarrassment. “I just think kissing is sacred.”

Sebastian swallowed. Ciel kept playing with his hair. He flicked his eye up to the older man and exhaled. The priest had the feeling he was about to tell him something he’d never said out loud before.

“I don’t want it to be something that can be bought.” The priest could see his bottom teeth as he breathed out, settling back down onto his side. His dark eyelashes kissed his cheeks, hand still clutched around the bottle between them.

“I think that’s very admirable,” Sebastian intended sincerely, but his words were slurred. The boy didn’t seem to mind, staring back at Sebastian with something clear behind his eye. The wall had come down. The priest’s heart threatened to burst. A strand of hair clung to the curve of the boy’s up-turned nose, and with a strange courage in his hand, he reached out and tucked it behind Ciel’s pierced ear.

He wasn’t sure what was more startling. The way that Ciel let him touch him so casually. Or the dark, mottled bruises on the boy’s throat as he combed back his hair. Sebastian hissed, and the boy grabbed his throat, eye wide.

“What happened to your neck?” He reached out again but the boy drew back. It hurt. Sebastian sat up, eyes darting to the places Ciel’s fingers couldn’t hide. _How hadn’t he noticed it before?_

“Nothing ‘appened,” he bared his teeth. He shuffled back on the bed but the larger man followed. With his hand on his neck he couldn’t escape quick enough, and he fell back onto the mattress with an _oof_. His hair fanned out under his head.

“Why don’t you trust me?” Sebastian hand him pinned under his hands and knees, but not a single part of them touched. Ciel still covered his neck, his body too small between the other’s hands. His little chest rose and fell. He was quiet for a long time, mulling over the answer with his lip between his teeth. After what seemed like an eternity, he slowly dropped his hand and revealed the band of bruises around his neck.

Sebastian reached out again and this time Ciel let him touch him, let him press his knuckles and thumb gently into his flesh. The wounds wrapped around both sides of his thin throat. The shape of hands. “Who did it?” The priest breathed.

“My father, not my real one. The man who raised me.” His voice was thick like it were on the edge of breaking. His fingers twitched to cover the bruises again, but he remained exposed under the priest’s heavy scrutiny.

“Why?” Sebastian pushed back more of Ciel’s hair and the boy turned his head for him. The priest smoothed back his locks until he could see all of his skinny neck. He pressed his palm to it, felt how small the column was beneath his skin. He bristled.

“He doesn’t like me whoring.” Sebastian swallowed. His hand cupped under the back of the boy’s head and Ciel blinked, eyelashes wet. His anger was dormant, only quelled from behind drunk under the table. He could still feel it there, waiting.

“So he beats you?” Ciel huffed, quick and annoyed. He batted at Sebastian’s hand ineffectually. 

“No, ‘e doesn’t do that.” He laughed like Sebastian was an idiot. Like the priest didn’t understand a single thing about the world. Ciel’s baby teeth peeked, his mouth quirking like he knew everything and Sebastian was a useless stranger to the world. It was true. It was how he felt, too.

“Did he do this to you, too?” Sebastian slipped one finger under the string of Ciel’s eyepatch and gave a little tug. The smile fell from Ciel’s lips. He tensed.

“No,” he whispered. “I got sick when I was little, and they took it out.” Sebastian rolled onto his side but his hand stayed on the side of Ciel’s face. He traced the string back to his cheek. Ciel caught his wrist and gave it a warning squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said, but he didn’t move his hand away. He stroked his knuckles down the side of Ciel’s face, who closed his eye and leaned into the touch.

“It’s very ugly,” Ciel uttered. Sebastian heart now ached.

“I’ll let you see the scar I got, when I fell off a horse as a child.” Ciel laughed nervously.

“It’s ‘ardly the same thing.”

“Do you want to see it or not?” Sebastian taunted. He could feel Ciel trembling under his hand, so he was surprised by his answer.

“Fine,” Ciel yielded, and loosened the grip he had on the older man’s wrist. He reached back behind his head, pulled at the fine black strings and the eyepatch went loose on his face. With bated breath, the priest brushed it off his eye.

Ciel had his eye, _both eyes_ , tightly shut. The skin around his right eye was pink and shiny, and raised in some parts like a scar Sebastian couldn’t make sense of. All of the boy’s eyelashes were in tact, his eyebrow too. Sebastian used his thumb to smooth down the mussed hairs of his second eyebrow, and then trailed it down to touch the pink skin of the boy’s unseen eye socket.

Ciel make a sharp sound in the back of his throat and suddenly he opened both eyes, one blue and the other white and glassy. Fake. Sebastian mourned at the loss of it, a pain he never felt but he considered all the same. The sight of the boy’s full, uncovered face was surreal. He was so moved by the sight that he didn’t catch the words that rolled drunkenly off his tongue.

“You’re still _so_ pretty,” he breathed, and both eyes, dead and alive, widened painfully. Ciel looked as if he might cry, then his lips curled up.

“You’re so full of shit, Sebastian.” He laughed, but it came out nervous. The spell was broken, and the priest’s hand fell away from where it had cupped the side of Ciel’s naked face. He continued to stare down at the boy, taking a long hard look at the skin that had been hidden away from him. Eventually Ciel started to squirm.

“Show me your stupid ‘orse scar,” he groaned, unable to lay under the careful scrutiny of the priest any longer. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel sat up as Sebastian leaned back on one arm. With his free hand he pulled his shirt loose from where it had been tucked neatly into his trousers. Then suddenly he was pulling the white linen up his stomach, all the way to his midsection. 

Ciel froze. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. _He must be so drunk_ , he thought to himself as he stared at Sebastian’s hard, chiselled, pale, hard, naked, _hard_ abs. 

“Fuck,” Ciel said. Sebastian made that hot, pissed off face.

“Don’t swear,” he said, then rolled forward a bit to reveal a thin, neat scar on his right ribcage. It was maybe 4 inches long. Ciel couldn’t help the loud snort he made. Sebastian’s face went slack and he pulled his shirt back over his stomach.

“That’s your scar?” Ciel laughed rudely. “You’re right, that’s _so_ much worse than my missing eyeball!” Sebastian grinned despite himself and shrugged. He took a swig from the rum bottle between them.

“Let me see it again,” Ciel demanded, and reached out to pull the fabric of Sebastian’s shirt back up. The man let him. He pressed his hand over the pretty scar and stroked his thumb down it’s length. The priest watched calmly.

“Did it ‘urt?” Ciel asked. He felt Sebastian shake his head.

“Only a bit. Did your eye hurt?” Ciel shook his head in return. He was looking intently at the priest’s near-flawless skin.

“Felt better after they took it out. There was a cancer, or something. Only 'urts when I take the glass out.”

Ciel slid his hand away and the fabric of Sebastian’s shirt covered his stomach again. He left his hand there though, knuckles brushing against the priest’s belt. He figured he didn’t notice, they were laying so close. He could feel Sebastian looking at his face, but he didn’t bother to put his eyepatch back on. He liked the way Drunk Sebastian looked at him - as if he were anything other than ugly. 

He let him stare, let him take his fill of his uncovered face like no man ever had before. Ciel bought his head down onto the priest’s chest, let his cheek rest against his pectoral muscle and Sebastian made no effort to stop him. He stayed there until his body began to shut down, succumbing to the liquor and fatigue. His hand was still tucked up inside Sebastian’s shirt.

“Oi, Bastian.” He mumbled after a long time. He thought the other man might’ve fallen asleep because his pulse was slow and steady.

“Yes?” He answered back. His voice reverberated through his chest. Ciel’s head was resting over his heart.

“Gimme a kiss me goodnight?”

He felt Sebastian laugh, and he smirked into the man’s ribcage. Then the man wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. Ciel tensed and felt a chaste kiss being pressed into the crown of his head. 

“Just this once,” Sebastian breathed. Ciel eyes were open as wide as they could go.

Then Sebastian was laying back again, his heartbeat just a little quicker, and Ciel’s going so fast it was almost audible.

……………………………………………………………………………


	8. Huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was more I wanted to say, but I guess it can come later.

Three years ago Ciel had exactly three things he could rely on.

Firstly, a roof over his head. Secondly, money. And thirdly but not lastly, Ciel was drop dead gorgeous – and that’s what promised the first two things. 

At only fourteen years old Ciel was handsome as hell. He had a mouth like a sailor, a waist like a girl, and his skin was the colour of milk. The young boy was never short of attention, of both the good and bad kind.

Ciel met Father Claude Faustus during the summer before he turned fifteen. Claude was imposingly tall and had a smile that never quite reached his eyes. He was not the first priest who’d urged Ciel to repent his sins, but he was by far the most adamant. He shadowed the boy in his own neighbourhood, pestering him with long-winded Bible verse and threats of reformatories for youth with loose morals.

At first Ciel found the attention amusing. He argued with Claude, laughed at everything he said and even dared to flirt with him. The latter made the priest exceptionally livid, as even he was not immune to Ciel’s inhuman prettiness. 

Although it had started harmlessly enough, Claude’s presence soon became akin to stalking, and eventually it seemed as if the boy couldn’t go anywhere without him showing up. Claude’s declarations got louder, and his threats became more specific and visceral. 

One night he snatched Ciel as he left a local tavern, and slammed him up against the brickwork. Ciel was drunk, and his petite frame made him an easy target. As he struggled to slip loose, the priest looked him up and down with his unfeeling eyes.

“Look at you,” he’d said to him, forcing Ciel to face him with a fistful of his hair. Ciel swallowed and stuck out his jaw definitely. 

“I bet there’s not a single bit of you that hasn’t been touched by some other man, is there?” 

“Fuck you,” Ciel quipped. The priest laughed meanly and was suddenly leaning in, his breath hot on Ciel’s lips. When he realised he was going to kiss him the boy jerked backwards with a sharp gasp. He didn’t want his first kiss to be with _Claude Faustus_ , of all people.

But the priest didn’t stop, and Ciel was backed into a wall, so he slipped his deft fingers into his back pocket and withdrew his cherished switchblade. 

Years later Ciel could still recall the ugly sound Claude made when he stabbed him in the arm. The blade hit with a dull thud and the priest wailed, stumbling backwards and releasing his prey. Ciel gripped the handle of his knife so hard he started to tremble. Blood soaked the sleeve of the priest’s coat and fell to the ground between them. 

“Don’t ever touch me again,” Ciel threatened, his voice shaking. He wiped the bloody blade over his black trousers. It was the most empowering moment of his life.

……………………………………………………………………………

When Sebastian woke it was dark.

There was a throbbing in his head that matched the raindrops on the roof, and the taste of stale alcohol on his tongue. He was fully dressed and above the blankets, and there was a warm heaviness over his left side. A hand rested over his stomach, far too little to be his own.

 _Ciel_ , he thought, turning his head to see the darkness take shape of a sleeping boy. Ciel was curled up in on himself, hair absolutely everywhere. His skinny side rose and fell with each peaceful breath, and he was talking in his sleep.

“La plage… _Est hantèe_ …”

Sebastian frowned.

“Sortez de la plage… _mmm_ …”

Ciel’s sleep-thickened voice trailed out to a mildly distressed moan, and he reached out to brush away something imaginary. His hand brushed the priest’s collar and he grabbed at it instinctively. He curled his larger fingers around Ciel’s smaller hand and rubbed the cool skin over with his thumb.

“ _Sortir de la plage_ ,” Ciel grunted.

Sebastian shifted closer to the boy until his face took on features. His face was slack with sleep but his red mouth was tugged down in the corners. Sebastian watched his plump, pretty mouth sound out silent, slumbering sentences. Then he looked down at his neck, which was mottled with old bruises.

Sebastian exhaled roughly, giving a little squeeze to Ciel’s hand before dropping it. He sat up and stared into the dark of his apartment. There was a dim glow from the fireplace, but his aching head made his vision swim. He shut his eyes but all he could see were bruises, and imaginary fingers crushing into a skinny neck.

The weight of the world pressed down onto his shoulders. His heart felt like it was crawling up his throat, and a pit worked it’s way deeper into his gut. He didn’t realise how hard he was breathing until a small voice called out to him.

“Bastian?” Ciel muttered, shifting against the blankets. His long legs stretched out and bumped against the priest’s. At the boy’s call Sebastian was over him, on hands and knees as Ciel began to wake. He slowly opened his naked eyes, one pupil big and black, the other empty and white.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian whispered, looking between the two exposed eyes. Ciel nodded.

“You?” He whispered back, and Sebastian nodded too.

“Had a bad dream,” he replied, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. Ciel made a soft sound.

“Me too,” he said and turned his head until his nose pressed against Sebastian’s wrist. His mouth was so close that he could feel hot air against his thumb.

“Go back to sleep,” Ciel muttered faintly and looked up at the older man. A smile ghosted over his chapped lips, and his tongue darted out to wet them. Sebastian stared hard at his mouth and nodded stupidly, but made no move to go back to sleep. Ciel sighed and he shifted his head into the cradle of Sebastian’s open palm.

Without thinking, the priest curled a thick chunk of Ciel’s hair between his fingers and he tugged it. Ciel made a strange noise behind closed teeth. His eyes rolled up to stare at the offending priest, unwavering. Unblinking. Widening a little too far.

So Sebastian grabbed a fistful of hair and he yanked it back until Ciel’s neck was exposed. The boy squeezed his eyes shut but his mouth was red and open, sucking in air in unsteady, stuttering gulps. Sebastian stared hard at his lips and tightened his fist. Ciel moaned.

The sound caught them both off-guard. Sebastian let go of his hair and Ciel’s eyes flew open. The priest could see the other’s cheeks were ruddy and his little chest was rising and falling fast.

“Go to sleep,” Ciel repeated, his voice hoarse. Sebastian backed up, a little smirk in the corner of his lips. It got wider as Ciel’s scowl reappeared. Sebastian laid back into the mattress but even as he shut his eyes he could feel Ciel’s staring a hole into the side of his face. He focused on how fast his heart was racing, and he focused on slowing it down. He was also aware of how fucking hard he was, but that wasn’t as easy to get rid of.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel ate ugly.

Sebastian would be lying if he said Ciel wasn’t handsome. He was beautiful in the same way an ocean was – pretty on a calm day, and breathtaking when stormy. But he was an ugly eater.

Ciel ate like he’d never eaten before. He would stuff as much food as physically possible into his mouth, chew it up, and then stuff even more inside. Food was incapable of staying in his mouth, it would fall out in small avalanches of crumbs and land all over Sebastian’s tabletop. 

“You obviously don’t eat in front of your clients, do you?” Sebastian asked wryly. Ciel stopped mid-forkful of egg and gave Sebastian a look.

“It’s not usually food I’m putting into my mouth,” he retorted, yolk dribbling down his chin. Sebastian grunted. He let him go back to eating before speaking again.

“You talk in your sleep too.”

Ciel stopped mid-mouthful again and stared hard at Sebastian. His was wearing his eyepatch, having retied it upon waking up. 

“Anything else?” He grit, burning a hole into the priest’s forehead with that one, blue eye. Sebastian smirked, and ran his gaze over the boy’s figure.

“No,” Sebastian answered sweetly, his lips curling upwards. Ciel looked him up and down before returning to his repulsive method of eating. 

The rain didn’t let up all through breakfast, and was still falling when Sebastian’s held up his bedroom window to let Ciel sneak out. The boy hopped over the sill, one leg in and one leg out, when Sebastian reached out to stopped him.

“What,” Ciel swallowed. He looked down on the hand across his thigh.

“It’s my birthday next week,” Sebastian mentioned. Ciel raised an eyebrow.

“Your birthday?” He echoed. 

“Yeah,” Sebastian nodded. He took his hand off Ciel’s thigh. “I haven’t seen the Eiffel tower yet, do you want to go with me?”

Ciel’s shoulders relaxed and he quirked just one side of his mouth up.

“Yes,” he smiled. Sebastian felt his heart start to move back up his throat. He moved backwards and Ciel mirrored him, fine droplets of rain landed on his pale face.

“Au revior,” he waved his fingers and left, and Sebastian struggled with the kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach.

……………………………………………………………………………

When the freezing rain hit his skin, Ciel jerked back to reality. 

Out of all the horrible ways he’d woken up in his life, waking up beside Sebastian Michaelis had by far been the worst. The scent of the priest’s clean, pressed linen haunted him, and he could still feel the man’s hot handprint against his thigh. When he pulled his messy hair into a knot he groaned at the memory of Sebastian’s hand yanking at his hair. Ciel stopped in his tracks at the memory, breathing in hard and pressing his lips together.

He couldn’t protect himself from the basic desire of wanting a warm bed and someone to love him. It was something he craved like every other human, but he knew he’d never have it, especially not with Sebastian. That’s why waking up to him had hurt so badly. 

He tried to light a cigarette but the rain kept putting out his flame. The drizzle was making his clothes damp and he was shivering. He was hungover too. 

_“You’re still so pretty.”_

Sebastian’s words lingered in his head. They made his cheeks hot, they made butterflies surge through his insides. They made him feel happy and stupid at the same time. Mostly stupid.

Lost in his own mind he made his way through downtown, which was empty this early in the morning. As he passed the window of a small bookstore he noticed a book on display that stopped him in his tracks once more.

_“A Beginner’s Guide to French”_

The title was pressed in gold against an egg blue cover. The book was only small but it was hardcover and elegant. Ciel stepped in close to the window and the rain stopped, blocked by the roof above. He finally lit his cigarette. 

The price was steep. It was the same amount he’d make in a good week, before he paid the undertaker for rent. Still, he continued to stare at the lovely book and mull it over. It was perfect and he knew he had to buy it.

With a sigh he smashed his cigarette into the wall beside him and stepped back out into the rain. There was no use in standing around - he had money to make.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

In the afternoons Sebastian usually liked to tend to the church’s gardens, but the rain never let up. In fact it rained day, after day, and all through the weekend. It rained so much, in fact, that the ground became swollen with water, and Sebastian was church-bound indefinitely. 

The priest looked out mournfully at the damp church-grounds. His breath was fogging up the glass but he couldn’t see much outside anyway - the downfall was too heavy. He missed Ciel terribly. So he returned to what he’d been busy with over the past few days - sorting through the charity donations.

One by one he picked something out of the pile of donated clothes and folded it. Then he placed it in a pile with similar items. He had piles of shirts, coats, skirts, even a few pairs of shoes. All of them smelt moth-eaten and dusty, and faintly of the cologne of their past owners. Sebastian wrinkled his nose at the scent. He hated to be cooped up indoors, and in a church that smelt as musty as the old, forgotten clothing.

Claude was close by, sitting at his desk and taking notes of recent donations. His quill moved studiously back and forth, the scratch of the nib lost under the noise of rain on rooftops. Sebastian kneeled behind him, surrounded by clothing. He had been eyeing the older priest as he worked, his mind easily straying from the task at hand.

“Father Faustus?” 

Claude gave a murmur of acknowledgement but didn’t lift his quill. Sebastian thumbed an old sweater between his fingers, smoothing the scratchy fabric down. “Do you have a family?”

“Of course I have a family,” he said quickly. He didn’t stop writing.

“Do you miss them?” Claude sighed. His pen stopped and he pressed his fingers to his temple.

“What are you trying to ask, Michaelis?” The said priest swallowed. He still played with the old sweater, pulling at the used threads.

“I just,” he hesitated. “Don’t you ever get lonely? Do you regret not having a wife or children?”

Claude set his quill against the table-top and turned in his seat, looking down at the other man. Sebastian kept his eyes to the stone floor, expecting to be scolded. Instead the older man took off his glasses and began to polish the lens, thoughtfully.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. Sebastian looked up, eyebrows raised at the moment of complete honesty. 

“I would be lying if I said I’d never desired for my own kin, or someone to come home to. But that’s not possible for men like us.” He slid his glasses back on and exhaled, clasping his hands over his knee. Sebastian nodded, pressing his lips together so nothing stupid would fall out.

“You’re right,” he nodded. Sebastian’s hands smoothed over a small, black vest with silver buttons and minute detailing. It was such a small vest, far too small for an average man to wear. It would far better suit a slimmer, more delicate figure. His fingers clenched the fabric.

“And what about you, Sebastian?” Claude had returned to writing, but he inclined his head as he asked. The younger priest breathed out and thumbed the little vest.

“I want… someone to come home to,” he admitted. He heard Claude make a thoughtful sound, and then turn back to his work.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had a spring in his step.

Or it might have been a limp, from the twins he’d picked up from the bar last night. His pockets were full of money and there was a smile on his face. With each jingle of the coins in his coat he thought more of the French book in the window of the bookstore.

The sun had only just began to rise. It was freezing, and Ciel’s breath came out in little clouds. He took a short-cut home through the ghetto - through a part of town he wouldn’t cross at night but was deserted this time in the morning. It was only him and the slums, and the occasional stray cat. The sun was kissing the tops of the tallest buildings.

As he turned a corner Ciel saw a shop from the corner of his eye. He’d passed it a dozen times but it was always abandoned. Now it looked as if it were under new management, as different signage had been nailed over the pre-exisiting. A rudimentary painting of a tooth told Ciel it was a dentist’s, but the shabby sign propped up outside the door seemed anything but professional.

_We buy teeth - painless extractions - require within._

Ciel scoffed and ran his tongue over his own teeth. The sign made his smile even wider. No matter how bad things got for him, at least he wasn’t that low.

His happiness was short lived. The undertaker was there when he got back, thick wool coat wrapped around his arms and chest. His hair looked like frost, and his eyes tracked Ciel all the way across the square. The boy didn’t bother going to his own apartment, and came to stand before his guardian like a bad dog.

“Your rent is late,” he clicked. “Again.”

Ciel felt a heavy weight settle on his shoulders and he fisted the pile of coins in his palm. They weighed a tonne.

“Not today, _please_.” He looked up through his lashes at the older man, a trick that used to work when he was a child. The other considered him with bored, patient eyes. He flicked his gaze up and down the skinny boy’s figure.

“You have the money, don’t you Ciel?” His hand reached out to grace the side of Ciel’s cheek. He smelt of chemicals and something bitter. Ciel turned his chin and looked away, but the other came closer and pinned him against the wall of the funeral home.

“I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Ciel said. He tensed his jaw, lifted his chin. The other laughed. The undertaker stepped in until his nose was pressed to the part in Ciel’s hair.

“You can pay me now,” he said, breath warm on Ciel’s forehead. “Or maybe I can sell that glass eye of your’s hm? It’s worth _something_ , even if you aren’t.”

Ciel flinched. His guardian’s nose touched the side of his cheek, head inclined like he might kiss him. The boy pushed at his shoulders, mouth pressed shut. He could see the morning traffic moving behind the man’s shoulders and he flushed hot with embarrassment.

“Take it,” he said quickly. He squeezed his eye shut as the older man slipped his hands into both coat pockets and fished the earnings of his weekend out from them.

“Good boy,” he said with a peck to the crown of Ciel’s head. The boy felt himself shrink a foot. Then his guardian shoved him back against the wall, hard enough for his head to hit the stone. _Thud_. He left. Ciel stayed in place, frozen against the wall of the undertaker’s like one of the coffins.

……………………………………………………………………………

When Sebastian was eight he was thrown off his mare.

He didn’t realise what had happened until he hit the dirt below, face first, and a sharp, throbbing pain spread over his lower body. He rolled onto his back, and when he brought his hand down to his ribs he could feel the hot wetness of his own blood.

His horse snuffled through his hair then turned to pluck at the grass by Sebastian’s ebony locks. The boy tried to grab at the reigns that trailed through the dirt, but any movement made him whimper in pain. He couldn’t sit up, and he was all alone. He had no choice but to bleed under the big Montana sky.

When his father finally came looking for him, he was on the verge of unconsciousness. His hand had been cupped so tightly to his wound that the blood had stuck the two together. His father was merciless in prying them apart.

By then the sun was mostly set, and as his father hoisted him onto the back of his own stead Sebastian remembered thinking that surely nothing else on earth could hurt more than this.

And for the first 30 years of his life, that was true.

……………………………………………………………………………

Sebastian met Ciel by the gates of their abandoned park.

The sun was slipping below the horizon and the air was becomingly stingingly cold. The younger of the two was dressed in black, waiting across the street for the priest, looking so handsome that Sebastian swore his heart clenched in his chest. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Ciel’s scowl got worse as the priest got closer. The boy’s face was ruddy and pale, like it’d been freshly scrubbed. His hair was combed tightly and tucked back behind his ears and into a neat bun. Even his mouth was a deeper shade of red, like the younger had been chewing at his lips.

“You scrub up well,” Sebastian answered truthfully, laughing when Ciel shot him the look and turned his head away. He started marching up the street and the priest followed obediently.

“If you keep saying stupid shit we’ll miss the train,” he barked without looking back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s face looked so stupid.

It looked childishly happy. It looked kid-with-candy happy. The priest’s brown eyes were lit up with city lights and hope, and there wasn’t a single crease on his carefree face. So stupid, Ciel thought again, and actually looked at the Eiffel Tower, wondering if Sebastian was seeing something he wasn’t. It was just a tower, but Sebastian looked at it like it was the eighth wonder of the universe.

“It’s magnificent,” he said finally, as if he’d spent the last fifteen minutes thinking up the right word to do justice to the over-rated pile of wrought-iron lattice. Ciel couldn’t help but smile, and he shook his head.

“It’s alright,” he answered. Sebastian finally took his eyes off the tower and placed them on him. He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s beautiful. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He said it so gravely that Ciel didn’t dare laugh. Instead he ducked his head and slipped a parcel out from under his coat. He pressed the brown paper package into Sebastian’s chest, already feeling his cheeks heat up.

“Ciel, you didn’t have to,” the priest said reverently, taking the gift from the boy. His gloved thumb stroked over the package as if it were a bar of gold. Ciel wanted to die from secondhand embarrassment.

“Just open it,” he groaned. The man unwrapped the gift with careful precision, even taking the time to re-coil the string. He took painfully long to open the parcel, and when he did pen it he made a sound deep in his chest. 

Sebastian laughed, and then his laugh blossomed into a brilliant smile. He turned the book over in his hands and then flipped through it’s pages. His grin only widened when he saw the notes Ciel had made in the margins and the boy had to look away or else he feared his heart would explode.

“This is amazing,” Sebastian gushed, his voice so thick with gratitude that it made Ciel feel funny.

“It’s just a book,” he muttered, but the priest kept flipping through the pages. He made a handsome sound he found the glossary of curse words in the back cover. His face fell serious when he read the message Ciel left on the first page.

“You didn’t have to waste your money on me,” he said quietly. When he looked at Ciel he wasn’t smiling anymore, and there were questions behind his eyes. Ciel shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I love it,” Sebastian admitted, and Ciel’s heart sung. The man stared at him so solemnly that Ciel felt like the Eiffel tower; the sole heir of Sebastian’s undivided love and attention. 

But then the priest’s heavy eyes looked down at his injured throat, and the spell was broken.

……………………………………………………………………………


	9. Neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kudos makes me happy, please gift me all your kudos! <3

Ciel was petite. 

It was obvious when looking at him – the boy was small. He had little wrists, skinny calves, and Ciel only stood high enough to reach Sebastian's heart.

However, Ciel’s thinness couldn’t be truly appreciated unless he was shirtless - like he was now. When they’d departed the train Ciel was shivering, so Sebastian walked him home. The younger had protested it, but clung to the priest’s arm anyway. Now Sebastian was spending his birthday staring at the tattoo on Ciel’s back. The priest let his eyes wander down, Ciel had two little dimples where his spine ended. Sebastian wanted to press his thumbs into them so hard that the boy would curve his back out for him. 

Ciel mumbled something rude about _Gustave Eiffel_ and turned to tug a clean shirt from his dresser. Sebastian took the opportunity to admire his little waist. He was so small and feminine he wondered if Ciel had been born early.

“Have you always been so small?” He said it before he could think it through. Ciel snapped his head around, mouth pulled down. 

“What the fuck Sebastian,” he groaned, wrapping his arms over his chest. The priest felt horrible as he watched Ciel close in on himself. “‘ave you always been a tall, rude idiot?” 

“Yes,” Sebastian nodded, mourning as Ciel covered himself with the clean shirt. He pulled his hair out of the collar and bundled it into a loose knot.

“It came out wrong,” he continued, watching as Ciel moved past him and snatched a box of matches off the counter. 

“ _Huh_. Sounded like you called me ugly,” Ciel pouted. Sebastian grabbed his wrist, catching him. He squeezed Ciel’s arm roughly enough that he dropped the cigarette on the floor. 

“That’s bad for you,” he muttered. Ciel gave him that same pissed off look – the one Sebastian knew so well he could see it with his eyes shut. 

“This is my 'ouse!” Ciel yelled, jerking his wrist free and swiping the cigarette off the floorboards. He shoved his shoulder hard into Sebastian’s as he pushed past him but the priest caught him by that knot of grey hair. 

“I wouldn’t ever call you ugly,” he stared hard, making sure to tighten his fist until Ciel’s gaze softened. Ciel lowered his eye first, relaxing into the grip. 

“I want to know you’re eating enough. You’re so thin I could wrap my hands around your waist and my fingers would touch.”  Ciel laughed from his nose, air hitting the inside of the priest’s wrist.

“Do it,” he goaded. His mouth turned up on the side, he was so competitive he was almost too easy to manipulate. 

“Hmm,” he sighed, finally letting go of Ciel’s pretty hair. “If I can, will you eat something?” Ciel nodded. He stuck his chin out, stepping forward to face the priest. Sebastian put his hands on the side's of Ciel's skinny waist, rubbing his bottom rib with the heel of his palm. Ciel shifted a bit closer and raised his arms to hold onto Sebastian's shoulders. For balance, the priest told himself as his heart missed a beat. 

Ciel looked all together too confident that he'd win the bet. So the priest bunched his hands into the fabric of Ciel's shirt and exposed the boy's stomach. Sebastian felt him flinch when his own hands smoothed across his naked belly. He spread his fingers around the narrowest part of his waist, thumbs anchored in his belly button.

"I win," Ciel muttered as Sebastian's fingers didn't meet. Sebastian flushed hot and squeezed harder, making Ciel cry out. He spread his fingers as far as they would go. He dug his palms so tight into Ciel that he thought the boy might break but it was futile. 

"I win," Ciel said again, his mouth now against Sebastian's collarbone. Sebastian relaxed his grip but didn't let go of Ciel. He backed him into his kitchenette until his back pressed into the countertop. 

"It was close enough," he argued. He left Ciel where he placed him and started going through his pantry. The cupboard was almost empty. Inside was a faded tin of tea, two bowls, some potatoes and a few slices of bread wrapped in mottled brown paper. 

'Where's all your food?" Sebastian asked, he already knew the answer. There was no food for the same reason Ciel's bed only had one blanket. For the same reason there were holes in the mattress and no curtains on the window. 

"Men like that I'm skinny," Ciel bragged. Sebastian rolled his eyes because Ciel couldn't see him. 

"Is that so?" He replied but even he could hear the childish rudeness in his voice.

"Men should like you no matter what you look like" he said. He took the bread out of the cupboard and placed it on the counter. There was a butter dish by the stove and the priest layered the spread onto the bread. He lathered so much on it was the same thickness as the bread. He could see Ciel grimacing out the corner of his eye. 

"Eat it," he pushed the bread over to the boy. Ciel looked at him with a widened eye. Sebastian savoured the sight, so rarely did Ciel look surprised. 

"You couldn't fit your fucking fingers around me, I'm not eating that." 

Sebastian felt his ears burn. When Ciel talked back to him it made his gut twist. He tensed his jaw and breathed out through his nose. Then he fixed his hand around Ciel’s jaw and squeezed until he opened his mouth. He saw Ciel's eyes widen but he didn’t fight his grip. Sebastian grabbed the overly-slathered slice and shoved it nice and close to the boy’s mouth. 

"Eat the bread," he grit out.

Ciel swallowed. His lovely eye regarded the slice of bread with reproach. He exhaled, casting another wary glare between the bread and the priest. Then he moved in, muttered something filthy under his breath and tore off a chunk with his teeth. Sebastian let go of his jaw and smiled.

Knew it, he said to himself. He’d known it since he’d pulled Ciel’s hair the night they’d gotten drunk. Ciel was younger than him. He was better looking, smaller, more intelligent even - but he was horrible at hiding his emotions. Ciel finished the last of the bread, wiping butter off his chin. He mouthed at his fingers with a wet suck and Sebastian gave him a sweet smile. Ciel could wrap him around his little finger as much as he liked. He could be rude, talk back and sass him to his heart’s content but Sebastian knew one thing for sure now. 

Ciel loved when he got rough with him. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was cold, but Ciel felt warm all over. 

Tiny flecks of snow landed on his face as he stumbled down the alleyway behind the Sacred Heart church. _I’m so fucking drunk_ , he thought. His knees bumped against the church’s fence and he climbed over, head swimming. He landed amongst the shrubbery and fell on his hands and knees.

There was dim candlelight from within the cottage and the window was open a crack. When Ciel hoisted the sill up and wriggled into the warm room he was greeted with the most perfect sight. Sebastian was asleep on his side, his body buried under layers of thick winter blankets. His hair splayed over the pillows, pretty and dark. He was an easy target. 

Ciel got on the bed and crawled over Sebastian, his hands and knees on either side of his sleeping body. He leaned in until his nose brushed against the side of his face. Ciel opened his mouth and pressed it so close to Sebastian’s ear that he could feel the warmth of his skin.

“ _Bastian_ ,” he murmured. He let his voice go low. He blinked and his eyelashes touched Sebastian’s hair. No response. Ciel pressed his nose to the priest’s temple and breathed in. Warm skin. He patted the side of the other’s face. “Wake up, Sebastian.”

Nothing. The drunk boy sighed, pulling his lip between his teeth. “ ** _Wake up_**!” He practically shouted, laughing as Sebastian immediately jolted, huge hands going for Ciel’s hips. In his pre-woken daze he squeezed the boy’s hips so hard that he whimpered. The sound blinked the confusion off the older man’s face, eyebrows furrowing. He breathed out loudly and eased his grip. His hands still stayed on the teenager’s hips.

“Ciel. I could have hurt you.” He gave gentle attention to the boy’s hips, thumbs kneading into the flesh in a way he wouldn’t have done if he were fully awake. The teenager leaned over the priest, put his hands in the pillows either side of his head and laughed. The sleepy prisoner tilted his chin and smelt the inside of his wrist.

“What did you do tonight?” He mumbled. His eyes closed, his throat bobbed. Ciel resisted the urge to roll his ass back onto the pyjama covered hips behind him. His fingers tensed in the pillow, body hot.

“Got drunk,” he answered. Sebastian made a little sound. Nodded. Kept smelling the inside of his forearm, even breaths tickling. “Played cards. Got fucked _really_ ‘ard.” Sebastian made a displeased grunt behind his teeth, eyes opening.

“I don’t need to know how many men sodomised you tonight,” he groaned. Ciel laughed at him, pushing his dark hair behind his ear. Sebastian turned his head childishly. 

“So you _do_ know how sex works.” Sebastian’s cheeks went pink and his lips pressed together. 

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” Ciel’s stomach churned.

“I’d say you were both.” Sebastian made a non-committal sound and tried to nuzzle his head back down into the pillows. His hands stayed on the boy’s hips, thumbs against the skinny jut of hipbone. As the larger man started to fall asleep again he gave a little squeeze.

“There’s stew over the fire,” he muttered without opening his eyes.

“I know what you’re doing,” Ciel smiled. Sebastian smiled too. He looked so hot. His eyes opened part way to regard Ciel’s little legs.

“Won’t stop till you’ve filled out,” he said and patted Ciel’s leg with a warm slap. Ciel rolled his eye and regretfully moved off the priest. The stew called his name. Sebastian fell back into a slumber. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s kindness was beginning to be too much.

Ciel was struggling with it. The priest’s patience and forgiveness was a stifling presence over him. The home cooked dinners, the warm bed. The way Sebastian would appraise his body with innocent, good-intentioned brown eyes. It was torture. Even when Ciel reeked of strange men, Sebastian would still welcome him in.

So Ciel drank harder.

He drank so much he wasn’t even sure how he got to the church cottage. He drank so much that he said horrible things to the priest. Things so bad he could see them reflected in hurt, dark eyes the next morning. One night he drank so much that he’d vomited all over himself, all over his hands and onto the kitchen table below him. Sebastian cleaned his face with a cloth, peeled his shirt over his shoulders and offered one of his own. The kindness was stifling. It was killing him. 

“I fucked two sailors tonight,” he told Sebastian. He stared hard at the side of the man’s face, desperate for a reaction. The priest’s jaw tensed.

“Don’t swear,” was all he said. Ciel went over to the priest’s side. He was slicing an apple for him to eat. He moved a small, clean blade through the flesh as the boy pressed his chest up against his back.

“You should have ‘eard the shit they said,” he gloated. He raised himself on his toes so he could rest his chin on Sebastian’s shoulder. The skin under him moved back and forth as he cut through the apple. The boy wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s narrow waist.

“Begged me to suck their dicks,” Ciel muttered. Sebastian stopped cutting the apple and turned towards his parasite. Ciel could feel the way his entire body was tense.

“So did you?” Sebastian’s jaw clenched, face pissed off and mean. The smile fell from Ciel’s face but he still felt dangerous. He lowered himself off his tip-toes and pressed his nose between the man’s shoulder blades. They knitted as he continued to cut the apple.

“I sucked one off while the other one fucked me-”  Sebastian slammed the knife into the cutting board. He turned around and looked at Ciel through long, black eyelashes. He was murderous

“Shut up,” Sebastian said, then pushed past him. The apple lay cut into neat slices for him. The priest moved into the furtherest corner of the kitchen and crossed his arms over his chest. Ciel stared at the apple, and then at the priest. He moved in and stuck one of the pieces into his mouth, it tasted so sweet.

“I don’t like the way they touch you.” Ciel laughed at him and the priest looked up. He looked hurt, he was so transparent, like a child. It made Ciel’s heart ache - that unfathomable kindness.

“What would you know about getting touched Bastian?” The priest lowered his eyes again. His next words were shy, unsure.

“I know that sex should only be for marriage, or love.” He stuttered on the last word. Ciel’s heart crawled into his throat.

“Don’t tell me about sex, you’ve never fucked anything in your life.” Sebastian’s jaw tensed, the same way it did every time Ciel swore. Ciel walked towards him, put his hands on either side of the counter top and leaned in nice and close. He flicked his eyes down Sebastian’s chest, to between his legs.

“Have you ever even touched yourself?” Sebastian said nothing, and Ciel’s eyes widened. He forced out a cruel laugh to disguise the way his heart clenched.

“I know you’re trying to upset me Ciel - and it’s working.” Ciel sucked in a breath, he hated the way the older man could see right through him.

“So give up on me.” Sebastian laughed. 

“You think I don’t know that’s what you’re doing? The drinking, the nasty things you say? I know you’re trying to get me to cave. You’re not as clever as you think you are.” Ciel blinked. He then realised how drunk he was. He smashed a piece of apple under his thumb and turned his jaw away from the priest.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Across from the Sacred Heart church was a marketplace. In good weather the spot was a hub for local produce, fresh flowers and bread - but on poorer days it was empty. Ciel leaned against an empty cart, using it’s umbrella as a means to escape the heavy, grey rain. He bought his cigarette to his lips, eye trained on the church across the street from him.

He hadn’t seen Sebastian in three days. No breakfast. No drunk crawls through his bedroom window. Ciel had been avoiding the priest, and the gentle way he stared at him. The hurt in his brown eyes. The dinner left out, like the priest knew he was going to be there (regardless if he was awake for it or not). He missed Sebastian. So much that now he was waiting for the priest to emerge from his stone fortress, in the middle of the raining day. Growing impatient, Ciel pushed off the cart behind him and began to stride across the street, boots sloshing in the puddles. That’s when he ran into Claude Faustus.

Literally. The older man grabbed him by the back of his neck, jerking him off the ground like he was a puppy. His skin burnt where Claude’s glove pinched it roughly. The priest pushed him hard against the side of a produce cart and shook him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He growled, pinning Ciel’s arms into the wooden frame. Ciel struggled, glaring down his nose at his nemesis.

“Making sure you’re not touching up little boys,” Ciel spat, delighting in the way Claude’s face recoiled.

“You were asking for it,” Claude muttered, his eyes flicking down Ciel’s face to stare at his mouth. Ciel’s stomach lurched and he pressed his lips together. He tested the hold the other man had on him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” Ciel warned, sticking his chin out. He was breathing hard and it was cold.

“You look good,” Claude muttered. He shifted his body so he hid Ciel from street view, hidden away in the folds of the priest’s robes. Ciel’s stomach twisted and he could feel his chin tremble. 

“You look old,” he whispered back at Claude, daring himself to look him in the eyes. The older man kept looking at his mouth. Claude moved in, so close the boy could taste his hot breath.

“Don’t,” he warned, his voice not as strong as he’d hoped. Claude ignored him, his nose pressed into Ciel’s nose, and Ciel whimpered. Then he stuck out his chin and bit the priest as hard as he fucking could, right on the end of his nose. For the second time in his life, Ciel heard an ugly scream come from the priest. He let go of Ciel, clutching his nose in agony.

“I said _don’t_ ,” Ciel yelled over the rain. He backed up, keeping his eyes on the priest until he was far enough away. Then he turned on his heel and ran off into the alleyway.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian wanted to throw up.

His heart beat so fast he thought he might drop dead any second. His blood ran cold when his superior grabbed Ciel by his neck and shoved him against a produce cart. Every fibre of his being told him to run out into the rain and break Claude’s neck - but his brain told him to stay put. When Claude screamed, his gut twisted. He felt a sick satisfaction at his form doubled over in pain, but then Ciel took off.

When Claude came inside, clutching his nose, Sebastian couldn’t even speak. He pressed himself against the walls of the church and breathed through his nose. Father Faustus removed his hand from his face, and the younger priest could see a nick on the fleshy end of his nose. A trickle of blood ran down from it and pooled on Claude’s upper lip.

“Who was that?” Sebastian lied, trying to keep his voice steady. Claude sat on the last pew of the aisle, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. 

“Ciel Phantomhive,” he grit out, his lips moving over Ciel’s name like it tasted bad in his mouth. He curled his lip and stared at nothing in particular, eyes seething with hate. Claude’s voice was unlike anything Sebastian had ever heard - guttural and rough. He was shaking even as he spoke.

“If I ever see that little whore around here again I will _kill_ him,” Claude muttered. He pressed the handkerchief back onto his bloody nose. Sebastian inhaled so hard that Claude looked up at him. He frowned.

“He’s dangerous Sebastian,” he said lowly. “I tried to help him once, and he tried to kill me.” Sebastian started shaking his head.

“I don’t believe it,” Sebastian muttered before he could catch himself. Claude nodded, still pinching the bloody cloth to his nose. He lowered it so he could start rolling up the sleeve of his jacket.

“I used to be like you Michaelis,” he started, unbuttoning his shirt’s cuff. “I used to think I could help everyone, but some people are beyond it.” He rolled his shirt up the length of his arm so Sebastian could see an ugly, deep scar - mottled pink with age. Sebastian knew his mouth was open, there was a ringing in his ears.

“Ciel tried to kill me,” he warned, turning his forearm back and forth so the ugly wound caught the candlelight. Sebastian’s lip wobbled, he sucked it between his teeth like he was going to cry. He finally looked away from it, and Claude made a satisfied sound.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel’s foot slipped as he crawled through Sebastian’s bedroom window. 

He hit the hardwood floors face first – swearing and cupping his bruised chin. He was trembling so hard he didn’t bother to get off the floor. He was making so much noise he didn’t notice Sebastian had arrived until the older man was kneeling over him.

“Ciel,” he said, his voice sounded wrecked. Ciel looked at him, saw the way his mouth was a thin line and knew the priest wasn’t happy with him.

“How do you know Father Faustus?” He looked so serious that Ciel got on his knees so he could look the priest in the eye.

“Claude used to stalk me, ‘e was obsessed with me.” Ciel reached out his hand for help, tried to grab onto Sebastian’s arm but the priest drew away.

“Did you try to kill him?” Sebastian’s voice was so hurt that Ciel sucked in a breath. His hand hung in the air from where the man had rejected him.

“I didn’t try to kill him, he tried to fuck me!” Ciel raised his voice. His heart clenched at the way Sebastian looked away from him.

“He’s a priest,” Sebastian said, in that low voice.

“I was fourteen,” he tried to yell but it came out as a whimper. Sebastian’s head jerked up as he said it, his eyes flashing. He stared long and hard at Ciel, his jaw flinching. Ciel’s shoulders started to shake.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” he said. “You don’t believe me…” Sebastian looked at the ground, his hands in tight fists by his side. His broad chest moved up and down in ragged breaths. Ciel felt something hot touch his cheek and when he reached up to feel his face he realised he was crying. He flushed warm with mortification and furiously wiped the tears away.

“Bastian, why won’t you believe me? Don’t you trust me?” His voice was loud and inelegant. 

“How can I trust you? You stabbed him.” Sebastian’s voice was barely louder than a whisper. Ciel felt like he’d been punched in the gut. The priest got up and Ciel scrambled after him.

“Claude attacked me!” Ciel cried, reaching out to grab Sebastian’s arm. He squeezed softly, trying to convince him.

“Why were you with him? Do you make it a habit to follow priests around?” Sebastian grabbed his wrist, pried it from him and pushed him back. Ciel stumbled, looked at his friend like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“How do I know you won’t do that to me?” Ciel laughed, the sound was raw with tears.

“As long as you don’t try to _rape me_ in an alleyway we’ll be fine!” 

Sebastian lurched forward, grabbed Ciel’s arm so hard he whimpered in pain. “You’re lying,” Sebastian whispered. His eyes closed, eyebrows knitted together. His hands shook from the tight grip he had on Ciel. Ciel made another pained noise, leaned in to push his nose into Sebastian’s cheek.

“You’d believe ‘im over me?” Ciel tried. His body went slack, pressing into Sebastian’s angry, hard body. He breathed in , his fingers curled over Sebastian’s, stroked the back of his knuckles. The priest trembled.

“I’m not going to take a whore’s definition of rape over his.” 

A sick crack echoed through the quiet cabin when Ciel punched him in the nose. Sebastian stumbled back, a loud, shocked breath falling between his lips. Then he started to bleed. Ciel watched red pour down the priest’s mouth and over his chin. It fell to the ground in slow, thick drips. 

“Fuck you,” Ciel bit, hand clenched and shaking. Sebastian bought his hand to his nose and touched it. When he saw the blood on his own fingertips he looked at Ciel like he couldn’t believe it. Ciel swallowed the lump in his throat. Then he turned and escaped out the window, disappearing the way he’d come.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

As a boy Sebastian heard that if he made an ugly face the wind might change, and he would always look that way. So as he grew, Sebastian wondered if the wind had caught his father’s face in a moment of rage - or if he was eternally bitter. Everyone said he looked so much like his father, but he could never see any similarities. 

Sebastian pressed his fingers to the dark, deep bruises under his eyes and let out a pained breath. A week later and it was still tender to the touch, his nose red and battered. When the priest stared into his reflection he could see how he looked like his father. He looked tired, miserable and resentful.

…………………………………………………………………………….

 

It took six days for his anger to quell. It took six nights without Ciel to make his heart hurt so bad he could admit he’d been wrong. It took six days of working side-by-side with Claude to have him question whose side he was on. It was on the seventh morning that he found himself knocking on Ciel’s front door.

“He’s not home,” came a voice from his left. 

The man spoke English, Sebastian relieved to hear the gritty, heavy accent. He turned to see a man leaning against the entrance of the building next to Ciel’s. He had long, pale hair and wore black, matt robes. He looked older than Sebastian, in his early forties.

“Do you know where he is?” The undertaker’s lips quirked up and he rubbed his dirty hands over the stubble on his chin.

“Try the south side of town,” he suggested. There was something about him that the priest couldn’t shrug. He searched the man’s face for an answer.

“Are you a customer?” The undertaker asked in a way that implied he already knew the priest was not. Sebastian shook his head, followed the man’s eyes as they glanced down to Sebastian’s white collar. The priest covered it with his fingers. The other brushed back a lock of his long hair in a familiar way, an action Sebastian had watched Ciel do countless times. His mouth dried as he realised who the man was.

“If you see him, can you tell him something?” The undertaker asked. His fingers curled around the sleeves of his coat. Sebastian watched them flex, saw them for a brief moment - curled around Ciel’s skinny neck. He nodded. He swallowed.

“Tell him that his father is looking for him,” the undertaker requested. His eyes narrowed, and Sebastian felt useless anger prick the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure if he nodded, but he was sure that his heart was breaking up inside his chest.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel took Bard’s finger easy.

The skinny teenager pushed back against the band of Bard’s wedding ring, his cherry mouth open and chewed on. Bard stared at his wet lips, other hand kneading the flesh of the boy’s ass out of unadulterated frustration. _What a funny rule_ , Bard thought – dipping a second finger into the boy. He was fucking him open on his knuckles but couldn't lick into his virgin mouth.

“Fuck you,” Ciel breathed into his ear. Like he could read his mind. His nose nudged Bard’s, eyelashes kissed his skin and the chef almost kissed him. His grit his teeth, rolled his tongue over his bottom teeth and fingered his frustration into the petite boy.

“I don’t want your _fingers_ ,” Ciel sobbed. His nails raked into the snake tattoo on Bard’s arm, welts lost under inked scales. Bard hitched Ciel further up his chest, moved him up so his cock was pressed to his stomach. That forbidden mouth opened again, wounded noise escaping as his hair clung to his brow. Bard laughed.

“Kinda seems like you want my fingers, pigeon.” He crooked them, delighted when Ciel shuddered, wild hair stuck to his sticky mouth. Bard combed the locks back, kept them held in his fist so he could see that pretty eye cloud over in lust. Ciel never faked it. He could tell. Not even a boy as talented as Ciel could fake the way he clenched down on his finger, the way he could come just from two fingers in his ass.

“What do you want?” He muttered in Ciel’s ear. His princess dug his nails in, tried to hurt him with his fingers and his scathing tone.

“Your cock,” he bit, teeth bared. It would have been intimidating if he wasn’t literally begging for it, hair wrapped up in Bard’s tattooed fist. The chef’s fingers crooked again, Ciel’s eye half-closed as he curled his back, backed up against his thick knuckles. He kept the boy seated half-way on his fingers, not wanting to lose his wedding ring inside him. Again.

“You stupid fuck,” Ciel breathed, breath hitched as he tried to edge back. His thighs shook as he desperately struggled back to find his fingers.

“Love your sweet names for me princess,” Bard grumbled. He pulled out his fingers, wiped the spit on the back of Ciel’s thigh and the teenager groaned like he hated it. The chef grabbed his cock, gave it a slow, needy jerk as he dropped his jaw and rolled his tongue into Ciel’s ear. The Parisian _keened_. He tried to squirm out of the slick kiss, teeth clicking on the boy’s earring and he backed down against Bard’s thick, patient cock instead. The wet tip kissed his spread thighs.

“You. You f-fuck, you stupid, _ah_ \- ” His mouth stopped working as the chef got his cock into him, watching as his brain shut down inch by inch. He was only capable of hurt, animal noises, breathing out his nose because his mouth was thick with moans. His eye rolled back, fingers slack on the chef’s pectorals as he bottomed out, biting his own tongue so he wouldn’t kiss Ciel on his slutty mouth.

“Sit down on it,” he grunted through his teeth, combing Ciel’s hair with one hand - the other grabbing rough chunks of his white, twitching thigh. He sat, took him to his base and Bard gave him one good, rough thrust. Enough to make Ciel shudder.

“Not so mouthy when I have my dick in you, _huh?_ ” He muttered, watching Ciel’s glazed eye try to narrow at him. His cheeks were dark, skinny stomach undulating and contracting as he ground down in his seat.

“F-f-fuck you. And your small dick,” Ciel whispered. He leaned back with his hand on Bard’s thigh, breathed in and the chef swore he could see where his narrow tummy was swollen with him inside. He brushed his thumb over Ciel’s belly button and pushed, the teenager rocked back on him, thighs shaking with the effort it took to rock up and sit back down on it.

Bard huffed, other hand curling under Ciel’s ass to touch where they were connected. His calloused finger dragged over the stretched rim, dug in a little beside his cock - enough to shut Ciel up. “Doesn’t feel little when it’s in you,” he groaned. He was grateful for the way the kid could barely hold himself up, arms shaking - or he might have slapped the blonde across the jaw.

“Come on, show me that you want it.” He rolled his hips up off the bed in a way that made the boy sigh. He grabbed his fleshy hips with both hands, tugged him forward so he could lay down across his tepid, tensing chest. His dick slipped out of Ciel, pretty thing moaning at the loss in a way that reinforced Bard’s validity as a man. He spread Ciel apart, fucked back into him easily.

He shoved his tongue back in his ear, held Ciel’s hair rough enough that he couldn’t turn away. He kissed his ear, his cheek, dragged his tongue over his open jaw, fingers clenched in his flesh as he bounced up and down on his dick, feeding nasty sounds into the blonde’s collarbone. Bard grit his teeth again, kept sucking at the salty flesh of Ciel’s neck so he wouldn’t force him down into the sheets and fuck his tongue into his mouth instead.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was snowing as Sebastian crossed the bridge into the south side of town.

He’d slicked his hair back, hoping it made unrecognisable. Although dressed in plain clothes he still felt as if he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was nervous too, of the loud nightlife on the other side of the bridge. Unlike the other priest at the Sacred Heart church, it was Sebastian’s first time here.

Sebastian hesitated at the entrance of one pub, craning his neck over the sea of people. The priest left, ghosting door to door along the snow-covered road to Hell. He almost missed a little pub crammed between two buildings. Despite its size it seemed louder than the others.

As soon as Sebastian walked in the door he was shoulder to shoulder with men and women. The miasma of sweat and cheap perfume permeating the air around him. The walls were a devilish red. The pub was covered floor-to-ceiling in nightmarish, racy paintings. Sebastian pressed himself into the wall, avoiding the stamp of heeled boots. It was so loud inside that the priest couldn’t hear himself think.

He felt the wall crinkle behind him and when he turned his head he gasped. He found himself face-to-face with a wall of pornographic photographs. Women in sheer stockings spreading their legs, others posing topless. Sebastian knew he was blood red with embarrassment. He went to turn away from the horror until one photo caught his eye.

He wouldn’t have know it were Ciel if it weren’t for his tattoo. His hair was a lot shorter than Sebastian was used to, clipped prettily beneath his ears. He was also completely naked - laying on his belly across an elegant sofa. He was propped up on his elbows a bit, chin raised as he looked at something out of shot. The dramatic curve of his back made his backside perk up, full and creased where it conjoined with his thigh. The photo cropped across his thigh. It was tasteful in comparison to the ones that surrounded it. Sebastian swiped the photo off the wall, shoved it in his coat pocket and ordered a drink.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It didn’t take much to get Sebastian drunk. Two glasses of sharp spirits made him feel warm and lazy, took the bite out of his harsh surroundings. He order another drink and then caught a glimpse of something out the corner of his eye.

Ciel was perched on the back of an old armchair, waving a glass of alcohol back and forth as he spoke. It was too loud to hear, and Sebastian’s French wasn’t good enough, but it looked like he was telling a joke. The priest turned in his chair to watch the way Ciel delivered the punch line, the men surrounding him hollering in laughter. Ciel was sitting on the knee of a man whose skin was covered head to toe in tattoos. Sebastian watched as the man, a blonde, snaked his hand back around Ciel’s body. His fingers lingered under his shirt and over his belly, possessively. Ciel laughed prettily, not minding the hand pawing on his skin.

Sebastian was jealous. Ciel was a glittering, charismatic beacon of a good time and the priest felt miserable. Ciel's hair moved over his shoulders as he turned his head between men, his teeth flashing as he grinned. He was devilishly handsome and popular. Every single man around the table had their eyes locked on him – like Sebastian. 

Sebastian got drunker as the blonde got up to leave. Ciel stuck to his side, face inclined to the man as if he clung on every word he said. The tattooed man pressed adoring kisses into Ciel’s hairline. That’s when that big, blue eye finally saw Sebastian.

Ciel’s eye widened and the priest froze. Then Ciel half-closed his eye and leaned into the kisses, still staring at Sebastian. The boy pressed his mouth into the blonde’s jaw to return a few kisses but he never took his gaze off the priest. He let his jaw drop and his tongue lolled out to paint a stripe up along the other’s neck. The pink hint of flesh rolled over the column of inked skin, the blonde giving the teenager’s ass a squeeze so rough he rocked forward in his seat. When the blonde man left, the priest followed him with his eyes - burning a hole into the back of his head. He ordered another drink in horrible French. Then his head was jerked back, fist in his hair - and the contents of the drink spilt across the back of his knuckles.

“What the fuck are you doing ‘ere?” Ciel barked into his ear, and Sebastian dropped his eyes to the side to see the pretty man up close. He smelt good, like leather and something darker like the incense they burned in church. 

“Looking for you,” Sebastian admitted, letting Ciel jerk his hair back before he let him go. Ciel grabbed his glass off the bar and took a swig, finishing the contents. He screwed up his nose and looked at the priest with disdain.

“Are you drinking?” He muttered. Sebastian lowered his eyes and felt his cheeks go hot. Ciel flicked his eyes over him, from his slicked back hair to his regular clothes.

“You look so stupid in this,” Ciel said as he took a rough hold of the front of the priest’s shirt. He jerked at the fabric. Sebastian shut his eyes, felt his head swim as Ciel’s thumb came up to rub over his bottom lip. He opened his eyes and Ciel was a lot closer to him.

“Don’t go,” he said.

“I ‘ave money to make,” Ciel replied, his head tilting to the rowdy men behind him. One of them yelled something to him and Sebastian didn’t understand. The priest stuck his hand into his coat pocket and fished out as many coins as he could, sitting them on the bar top. 

“How long does this get me?” Ciel laughed at the petty cash.

“Five minutes,” he lied. He swiped up the coins and stepped up onto the shallow step of the bar to order another drink. Sebastian’s heart clenched at the way the boy strained so hard to get his elbows on the bar top, bent over it on tip-toe. He moved in behind him, arm wrapped instinctively under Ciel’s belly so he could hoist him up higher.

“Put me the fuck down,” he hissed in a tone that had the priest obey immediately. Ciel gave him a poisonous look, fresh glass of _something_ in his little hand. Sebastian didn’t back off though and Ciel didn’t make him. He drank from the glass, sending a simmering glare over the edge of the drink. Sebastian’s hands found the top of Ciel’s hips and held him there, scared he would leave.

“Come home with me,” he mumbled. Ciel ran his tongue over his lower lip, screwing his nose up. Sebastian put more money on the bar, all the money he had on him.

“You can’t buy me,” Ciel said, side-eyeing the pile of coins. He stepped in a little closer, free hand coming up to play with the back of Sebastian’s hair. Sebastian bit his tongue. He dug his fingers into Ciel’s hips, forced him to step a little closer and put his nose into his hair. He breathed the boy in and the petite thing swatted his arm with half-hearted intention.

“Don’t smell me, what the fuck!” Sebastian’s fingers clenched painfully into Ciel’s hips, a tremor running through him as he closed his eyes and stayed pressed to the head of dark hair. Ciel’s stolen photo crinkled in his top pocket and he thought of the way the portrait cut off above the swell of the teenager’s ass. He pushed his fingers down a little, spreading apart to find the swell of Ciel’s backside. The skinny thing made a strange, breathy sound, squirming back from his Roman fingers.

“You’re drunk,” Ciel said and his eye softened. He heard a booming laugh and someone yelling in French. He looked away from Sebastian to the rowdy group of men he’d left. One man in particular, a scruffy brunette, was waving and beckoning Ciel over to them. 

“I have to go,” he said. “Louis ‘as already paid for me.” Sebastian didn’t take his hand off the small of his back. He tightened his fingers in the back of Ciel’s shirt and dragged him closer. He didn’t want to know what it felt like to lose Ciel Phantomhive’s heat off the front of his body.

“Leave me alone,” Ciel muttered. He flicked his eye up, gave Sebastian a sad frown before Louis shouted at them again. “ _Please_ ,” he added, backing away and over to the brunette who’d approached at their separation. Louis wrapped his arm around Ciel, hands on that thin, delicate waist. The boy kept his eye on the priest the entire time.

The brunette shouted something at Sebastian - something the priest didn’t understand exactly, but he got the impression from the way Louis winked, greedy hands ruffling Ciel’s hair. _Better luck next time_. The boy combed his fingers through the mess but Louis knotted it again, pinching the boy’s thigh so hard that Ciel yelped.

“Don’t touch him,” Sebastian said loudly. Louis froze. Ciel stared up at him, pretty hair tangled and hanging over his nose. The priest’s heart crawled up into his throat, body flooding with heat. He warned himself to suppress the anger he felt, tried to remember all the lessons he’d had on self-control. It was no use - he was too drunk.

“Laisse le partir,” he said in trembling French. Ciel huffed, chewing at his lip like he did when he was nervous. Louis let him go, giving the boy a little push that sent him stumbling back on his feet. He hit the bar, nose screwed up as he bit back another wounded noise at the hands of the brunette. He yelled something nasty at Louis, and in turn it made the brunette rile up. He took a step towards Ciel - lip curled.

“Petite _pute_ ,” he growled. Sebastian snapped.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel flinched.

 _Slut_. It felt like a slap to the face. He knew the priest understood - saw the way his brown eyes flashed and his jaw tensed. Ciel opened his mouth to shout at him but it was too late. He grabbed Louis and shoved him so hard that the brunette hit the floor with a sick _thud_.

“Bastian! Stop!” He screamed, throat burning. He rushed in and punched the back of the priest’s head, tried to push him back with his little fists but it only spurred him. Sebastian grunted. His hand went for Louis’s neck, brushed Ciel back like an ant. Louis kicked. One fist came up into Sebastian’s gut and he stumbled back. Bar stools scrapped across the floor as Louis shoved Sebastian back into the bar, glasses hitting the floor with pops of shattered crystal.

“Get your _dog_ off me!” Louis screamed, thrashing like a fish as the priest throttled him over the bar. Ciel wheezed as he grabbed a chunk of Sebastian’s hair, pulling so hard he tugged some out. The priest growled, dropping Louis who slithered to the ground. The brunette scrambled up but the priest stepped on his chest, hunching over to start again. Ciel felt like he couldn’t breath, chest rising and falling so quick he couldn’t yell at them.

The click of a gun made both men stop. Ciel watched them back up, noses bleeding as the bartender aimed a gun at the pair of them. The teenager gripped the bar so he wouldn’t faint, vision clouding and room swimming. The two other man were panting. Sebastian’s head was bleeding. Louis looked worse.

“Get out,” the bartender grit. His shoulders were squared, slicked hair bright in the lamp light overhead. He nudged the gun towards the door, glancing down at the kid clinging to the bar. The bartender pressed his lips into a worried line and yelled at the men again. “I said _get out!_ ”

Ciel pulled the last standing bar stool under his body as Louis and Sebastian left, lingering at the entrance like dumb dogs. The bartender watched them carefully, crowd stepping back to let them leave. The band was still playing, despite the shattered glass and broken chairs across the floor. When the two culprits disappeared from sight, the bartender put down his gun and leaned over the top to touch the boy’s heaving shoulder.

“Ciel,” he helped raise the boy’s face, saw his lips pale and breath short. “Are you okay?” Ciel nodded, taking a thick swallow of balmy, smokey air.

“I need to breath,” he mumbled, stumbling up off the stool and away from the safety of the armed barman.

…………………………………………………………………………

 

As soon as he stepped outside, Ciel knew he was fucked. 

It was too cold, and he was too upset. The fresh air flooded his lungs and his throat went tight. He took three steps through the thickening snow before stopping, hands on his knees and he struggled to breath. He coughed, spit thick. A bitter laugh had him lifting his head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sebastian spat. The hair on the back of Ciel’s neck pricked up. He forced himself to keep walking, snow crunching behind him as he heard the priest encroach.

“Leave me alone, you fucking asshole!”

“No! I want to know why you’re doing this.” It took him no time at all to catch up to Ciel. The boy’s chest rose and fell like he’d run a marathon. He finally turned to face the priest and saw his cheeks were streaked with blood. He looked angry, breathing as hard as the other. 

“That’s my _job!_ ” Ciel yelled, his own voice painful in his throat.

“Why would you let him touch you like that? He _hurt_ you. I thought you were smarter than that.” Sebastian’s voice was thick from the blood running out his nose and down his throat. His forehead was gashed too, angry nick wet and crimson on his brow.

“Smart? You said I was such a _slut_ that I wouldn’t know what rape was!” He tried to scream but his throat was hoarse. He coughed, lips dry and chapped. It hurt to stand still in the cruel snow.

“I didn’t say that.” He frowned so deeply it were almost comical. Ciel rubbed his throat, his eye blurry with tears. He coughed, again and again until he made the involuntarily whine that he hated the sound of. The one the undertaker always said reminded him of a pig. Sebastian’s face fell.

“What’s wrong?” The anger was gone from his voice. Ciel glared. He was dying. Everything burnt and he was breathing so hard it was the only thing either of them could hear.

“I’ve got asthma, you stupid fuck.” He managed to wheeze, coughing so hard his hair fell over his eyes. His knees buckled and he went down into the snow, falling forward into the priest’s arms. He coughed into Sebastian’s warm chest, fingers scrambling for purchase. Each staggered breath took a lifetime to reach his lungs. Strong arms picked him up but this time he didn’t complain. His feet left the ground, his head met the priest’s shoulder.

“What do I do?” Sebastian breathed, failing to mask his panic. Ciel tried to breath him in, trembling against the wool. He smelt sun and cologne. He couldn’t reply - eye squeezed shut to focus on breathing. In and out. His face was hot with tears, wet from both eyes. He heard Sebastian mumbling to him, chest rumbling and then they were moving.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian couldn’t stop the praise coming out of his mouth. 

“Good boy,” he mumbled and squeezed Ciel tighter. He felt him shudder in his arms, start coughing again. “I’ve got you,” he cooed, rubbing his thumbs over his back. His head felt so heavy, limbs limp, mouth unguarded as he mumbled soft, sweet nothings to the boy in his arms.

Not too far from the church was the warehouse the priest stored church donations inside. Two stories tall and separated from the town houses, it looked as if it might have been a barn back when Paris was farmland. Now it had grown unkempt with ivy and the first-floor windows were boarded up. Sebastian had found it during his first weeks in Paris, on assignment from Claude. It was a dry, safe place to store the donations. Sebastian was the only person who knew about it, and the only one with a key.

The stairs creaked as Sebastian balanced Ciel in his arms. He ascended to the second story where it was warm and smelt of old clothes. Crates of clothing were up against the walls, old furniture too, draped with blankets. With his precious cargo the priest lit a lantern and lowered Ciel to a secondhand couch. Under lamplight he could see Ciel’s eye, red with tears. The boy drew in a rattling, desperate breath, arching his back so the priest could see the way his ribs rose and fell.

“What can I do?” He begged, pushing the boys hair out of his face. It was still messy from where Louis had ruffled it, so the priest took the time to smooth it down. Ciel’s eyebrow furrowed in agony. He squeezed his eyes shut, eyelashes thick and heavy and wet.

“Need to c-calm down,” he struggled, whimpering again as he pressed his face into the couch. His body curled in on itself. Sebastian slipped his coat off his coughing shoulders, his hands soothing circles onto his back.

“Can you talk to me?” He said in the smallest voice. “About Montana?” The priest nodded. His thumbs kneaded tight circles into the teenager’s shoulder-blades. His back was knotted with tension.

“I miss it,” he blurted, but Ciel was listening, mouth pale. “I miss home so much. It was so different from here,” he explained, fingers shifting to tuck back some of the kid’s hair. His eye was so dark in the empty room. “I miss how big it was, and how it smelt.”

“What did it smell like?” Ciel breathed, ribs contracting as he coughed again. His frail fingers scratched the ugly, crimson sofa.

“Smelt like snow, and cold air. Home always smelt like pine trees and horses - _oh,_ I love horses.” He mumbled, cheeks burning at how he couldn’t hold back his drunken declarations.

“I wish I could ride one,” Ciel muttered. His eye was shut, breathing evened out. He hadn’t coughed for a moment and Sebastian felt a weight leave his back.

“I could teach you. You’re so clever, you’d be good at it.” Ciel made a noise and opened his eye again, breathing out through his nose. The priest was aware of his own nose, dried with blood.

“It’s so different here,” Sebastian continued. He let his hand move down Ciel’s back the same way his father touched a new horse. Ciel watched him the same way - like he couldn’t figure out if Sebastian was trustworthy or if he should kick him, and run. “Everything is cramped. Back home there were mountains and fields further than I could see. My father called it a drover’s paradise.”

Ciel swallowed, pressed closer to the couch but didn’t shrug Sebastian’s hand. “What does your father do?”

Sebastian frowned. His hand rested in the dip of the teenager’s back, fingers flirting with his untucked shirt. “He breaks horses.” 

Ciel’s fingers played with the blanket draped across the sofa, eye clearer with intrigue. He curled closer to the priest who was still kneeling on the floor beside the seat.

“‘Ow do you break a horse?”

“With force,” Sebastian said. “Relentless, stubborn force, until it submits to you.” He frowned, and Ciel frowned too.

“You disagree, no?” Sebastian stroked Ciel’s temple, trembling with the precious skin beneath his hand.

“I think you should earn the horse’s trust, and it will submit willingly. Tamed, not broken.” Ciel swallowed. He searched Sebastian’s face for something else. The priest felt exposed and he couldn’t bear to look into that eye.

“Then why the fuck did you become a priest?” Ciel would have laughed if his body wasn’t so tired, the sound like a weak cough. Sebastian smiled unconditionally, shoulders falling.

“He forced me into it,” Sebastian shook his head. He’d never said it out loud. He didn’t realise it was true until he spoke it, until he felt twenty pounds lighter. Ciel’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, violently red and bitten. Sebastian’s mind went blank as he stared at his dark mouth.

“Maybe I made a mistake,” he said, shaking his head. Ciel’s eye widened. The boy sat up on his elbows, eyepatch askew on his face. The priest reached out and pushed it off his head, glass eye shut and dry with tears.

“What do you mean?” He frowned with both eyebrows, one slightly mussed.

“Were you telling the truth about Claude?” Sebastian asked. Ciel’s eye flashed for a second, his hands tensed by his side and his chin jutted out. He nodded.

“I’d never lie to you,” he grit out, like he was so upset he could barely stand it. Sebastian’s heart sunk.

“I am _so_ sorry,” the priest mumbled, voice thick with regret. He felt too warm, too raw. He shouldn’t have had that last drink, he couldn’t stop the wetness in his eyes. He rubbed at his cheek and felt dried blood stuck to his skin. Ciel stared at him with both eyes open, wide as hell. He reached out and started tucking Sebastian’s hair back into place like it would help the mess he was in.

“Ciel, I should have believed you.” The boy’s eyelids fluttered, he trembled. He looked confused, he kept chewing at his lip and it made Sebastian so _hungry_. He shook his head, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“If I lost you it would kill me,” Sebastian admitted, and Ciel tensed. He was looking at him so intensely that his heart wanted to burst. His mismatched eyes were as unsettling as they were gorgeous.

“You’re really drunk,” Ciel whispered. He leaned in, hair falling forward to frame his face dramatically under the lamplight. Sebastian nodded. He _was_ drunk.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. It was the only thing he could say. He felt equal parts stupid and intoxicated. He let Ciel wrap his arms around his shoulders and draw him closer, up against his chest in a gentle embrace.

“I forgive you,” Ciel whispered back, then he turned and pressed a soft kiss to the cut on his forehead. His heart lurched. When the boy withdrew his lips were red with the priest’s blood. Sebastian suddenly became aware that he was drowning. He was in too deep and he couldn’t escape. Ciel didn’t take his terrifying eyes off him as his tongue darted out to lick the thick blood off his lips. Sebastian shuddered.

Ciel was an ocean, and he’d been consumed by him.

……………………………………………………………………………

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna write a Western after this.


	10. Dix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please follow my Tumblr! bun-o-ween.tumblr.com  
> Sometimes I do prompts and shit. And I love being asked stuff!! Pick my brains!!
> 
> ………………………………………………..

Ciel doesn’t remember it very well.

He doesn’t want to remember it. The memory lurks in his subconscious, deep enough for Ciel to keep it locked up inside of him. It is a dull, dormant burden. Ciel Phantomhive’s cross to bear. But at night he can’t stop the nightmares.

He was six, he thinks. The memories he has of his parents are unclear like he was looking at them through unsettled water. His mum was pretty, his dad was tall. Ciel remembers a home with a window, a little tree, white walls and brass picture frames. The smell of his father’s tobacco. Then the good memories start to blur with the bad. The toasty scent of cigarettes fades to the miasma of death. 

He doesn’t know how they died, but they died with their eyes open. Ciel laid down flat between them, pressed his face into his father’s jacket so he couldn’t see his mother’s bloody face. He’d never forget the emptiness of a chest without a heartbeat. The way his parents skin went clammy and perspired. When they dragged the corpses away, Ciel went too. He’d lain still on the floor for hours, days. He was stiff like them, motionless as they tossed him into a wagon thinking he was as dead as his parents. His mother's corpse thrown after him. It's cold weight pinned Ciel down. It was dark, then they were moving, and Ciel finally opened his eyes to see a dozen faces staring back at him. They were all dead.

Ciel thrashed on the donated sofa. His face contorted and he let out a sob. He made the same sound when he was six, tears streaming out his two, blue eyes. Ciel flinched in his sleep, his inner child struggling to escape under the weight of a dozen corpses. He couldn’t breath, the air was thick and stale with decay. This was the part he hated most and remembered the best.

He started screaming, thrashing his tiny body to no avail. His high-pitched wails lost under still limbs. He screamed so hard he thought his throat would bleed. He  squirmed until his face pressed up against something fleshy and damp. He screamed until he had nothing left, and then he screamed again. It took _so long_ for someone to find him.

“Now _this_ is unusual,” said a deep voice. When Ciel opened his eyes it was bright, the weight from his body was gone. Hands lifted him up under his armpits, carried him out of the cart of corpses until he was on solid ground again.

“You’re not dead at all,” said the man in front of him, who crouched down and tucked a strand of Ciel’s hair behind his ear. The undertaker’s hair hung only to his shoulders, it was thicker and healthier when they’d met all those years ago. His face split right across the middle, divided by a thin, pink scar. The mean smile he gave the six-year-old looked handsome back then. Ciel stopped thrashing on the couch, but he continued to whine.

“ _Help me_ ,” he mumbled – as a child and as himself. The undertaker cupped his face, wiped tears and gave him another tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you now.”

………………………………………………..

  _Saturday._

 

Ciel woke with a start. 

It took him a few moments of staring at the barn’s steeped ceiling for him to realise he wasn't in his bed. Early light leaked in through the windows, illuminating a galaxy of dust above his head. When he turned his face he saw Sebastian, asleep on the floorboards next to the sofa.

He looked bad. _Real_ bad. Ciel had a hard time admitting the older man was still attractive when he looked like this. His nose caked with gore, nostrils and upper lip mottled with coagulated blood. Dried, red flakes stuck in his hair, and an ugly looking cut on his head. The hollows of his eyes were dark, sunk in like he hadn't slept right in days. He smelt like stale alcohol. His neat hair now tangled and sticky with hardened blood.

Ciel rolled onto his back and sighed. _What a fucking idiot_ , he mulled over, watching dust drift across the room. In the light he could see piles of crates stacked along the walls. There was a small kitchen at the very end of the room. The entire second-floor was pale and bathed in light. It was the prettiest place he'd ever woken up.

Sebastian eventually woke, with a groan. His big body made the floorboards creak and Ciel rolled onto his side to watch the giant come to his senses. It was amusing. Sebastian raised himself up on his elbows and touched his fingers to his beat-up face. He grunted, like he couldn’t believe what happened.

“’ow do you feel?” Ciel smiled. He was gloating, smile stretched over his teeth as he himself stretched over the sofa. The priest narrowed his eyes and nursed his ugly head in the cradle of his hands.

“Like hell,” he mumbled, voice gruff. Butterflies stirred in Ciel's stomach at the sound of his low voice.

………………………………………………..

It was mostly superficial. The blood wiped away as Ciel dabbed Sebastian's face with a soapy cloth. He soothed the fabric over the cut on his head and over the sticky sides of his nose. His skin came out mottled but woundless – besides the gash on his head and lip.

“Bet you feel stupid,” Ciel said. He wanted to bite his tongue off for saying something so rude. The priest didn't mind so much though, settling for a heavy shrug of his shoulders. Ciel stood between his feet as Sebastian sat on the sofa, attended to by his own personal nurse.

“I wanted 'im to fuck me,” Ciel spoke again. He couldn't help it. The angry words bubbled up inside of him as an affect of the priest's silence. He wanted to upset him. Rile him. _Hurt_ him to the point he would snap and berate Ciel for his ugly words. He didn't know why he wanted Sebastian to do that. He didn’t deserve Sebastian’s head, so trusting between his dirty fingers.

“He didn't deserve to,” Sebastian said. He had his head down, eyes staring at nothing in particular. When he said this though, his eyes rolled up to stare at Ciel. He didn't blink. His dark eyes were unwavering in their seriousness. The butterflies inside of Ciel trembled once more. Their wings made him nauseous. Then Sebastian bought his hands up to Ciel's hips and gave them a tender squeeze.

“Don't give yourself away to men like that,” he muttered. Ciel widened his eye as the butterflies took flight. Sebastian looked wild. His face gave nothing away, but his damned eyes set the butterflies into a violent death spiral. His heart clenched with the enormity of it.

……………………………………………….. 

When they left the barn, Sebastian gave Ciel a key.

“I’m the only one who knows about this place,” he explained, pressing the silver tool into Ciel’s hand. There was a cute, blue bow tied to the handle. Ciel tugged at the silly attachment. 

“I know,” Ciel argued. Sebastian fixed him with a stare, raised his chin. Ciel swallowed his tongue. He closed the key in his fist.

“You can come here whenever you want,” Sebastian urged. Ciel bit back angry words. He wanted to tell the priest that he had a home. He didn’t need to be pitied. Or rescued. Or carried home from bar-fights when he couldn’t breath right anymore. Instead he pocketed the key and nodded.

Sebastian looked so relieved Ciel almost laughed. Almost.

………………………………………………..

_Sunday morning._

 

Sebastian didn't hide his face from Claude.

He couldn't. He was beat up bad. His lip had busted and he had a black eye. He had _I was in a bar-fight_ written all over his face in violent, purple bruises. When Sebastian arrived at mass, Claude gave him a hard look. His face was blank, but his eyes lit up in a way that made Sebastian feel transparent. Then he told the younger priest to keep himself hidden, so Sebastian spent the sermon at the back of the stage.

He stared a hole into the back of Claude's head. _Fourteen years old_ , he mulled over. A lump formed in the priest's throat as he replayed the sight of Claude grabbing Ciel, over and over. Ciel was too skinny, so petite it didn't take much to bend him to his will. He pictured the scar his superior had. He fantasised Ciel ripping it deeper.

He imagined grabbing Claude from behind and smashing his face into the lectern. He pictured using his hair to bash his face into the wood. Between the pages of the Bible. Onto the tiles beneath their shoes. He wanted to see blood. He wanted everyone in the church to watch him attack Claude. He saw them running away. _Fourteen_ , he thought again as he entertained the idea of crushing Claude's neck under his shoe.

The hate ate away at him like acid. It boiled up under his skin, poison seethed out his face and he scowled. His fingernails dug crescent cuts into his hands. He fancied things on purpose, if only to further his fury. He thought about Claude's hands wrapping around Ciel's little throat. He imagined Ciel scared. He pictured it so vividly that he injured himself, bought hot, angry tears to his eyes. When he finally imagined Claude forcing himself onto Ciel he lost it. Something snapped. The Bible he was holding crumpled in his hands, spine broken.

The sound echoed through the church, stirring Claude from the lectern. He turned over his shoulder, only for a second, to give Sebastian _that look_. His glasses flashed and the pink scar across his nose made Sebastian's heart crack in half.

………………………………………………..

_Sunday night._

 

Ciel fantasised about cutting his hair.

It was a daydream of his. He'd take a pair of scissors and cut it off at the base until he had none left. Ciel thought about this when he got knots in his hair. He thought about it when it stuck to the back of his neck in the summer. Ciel loved his hair but men used it like a handle.

The slap knocked his teeth together. He grunted, curled up on the floor as he felt heat flush across his face. His fingers touched at his nostrils, felt slick blood on his top lip. Then he was on his knees, dragged upwards by a chunk of his thick, beloved hair. He squealed as the undertaker pulled it harder, strands snapping under stress. He thrashed, knees rubbing raw on the rough wooden floor.

“You sound like a pig,” his guardian told him. Ciel yelped when he got hit again. His eyepatch slid to the side and cool air hit his bad eye. His hands wrapped around the wrist in his hair, he didn't readjust it. He thought about the last Western he'd read and wondered if this is what scalping felt like. He jerked forward until he was sitting between the blonde man's legs.

“Do you remember being this tall?” The undertaker asked. He tightened his fist, dragged Ciel forward until his chin was resting on his belt. Ciel had both eyes squeezed shut, blood clotting in his nose. “You were less trouble back then.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Ciel cried, regretting the words as soon as he said them. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, moaned when his guardian started to kneed the sore spot on his head. It burnt, pulled tight, so hot it felt like ice.

“Lying bitch,” the undertaker muttered under his breath. He loosened his grip on Ciel's hair, let it slip through his fingers a few inches. Ciel didn't dare move. He could feel his guardian's stomach rising and falling with angry breaths. With his eyes screwed shut he heard the other man undo his belt. Ciel flinched at the sound. The belt hissed against fabric as the undertaker slipped it free from his trousers. 

“Tell me the truth this time,” he growled. Ciel felt the belt press against his cheek and tap, in warning. He opened his good eye and looked up at his guardian. He nodded. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, still above his head, holding the man's wrist.

“What was that priest doing here?” Ciel's heart stammered in his chest. The first time his guardian had asked this, Ciel had replied with _nothing_. It was the wrong answer. His face throbbed. He rested his head against the jut of the undertakers hip, unable to sit upright anymore.

“He wants me to stop whoring,” he mumbled. It was closer to the truth this time. His guardian splayed his hand over the back of his head and made an annoyed sound in the back of his throat. His fingers played with the bloody patch in Ciel's hair.

“ _Oh_. What did you say?”

Ciel forced himself to laugh, raised his head off his guardian's lap and fixed him with a steely gaze. He raised his chin, mouth quirking up on the edge.

“I told him to fuck off,” he said, and bared his bloody teeth. The undertaker stared at him for so long that he wasn't sure he'd bought it. Then he laughed, low and handsome. He finally took his hand out of Ciel's hair and patted him hard on the cheek. Ciel's heart started beating again. 

“Good,” he crooned, fingers tracing Ciel's features in an imitation of love. His knuckles grazed Ciel's throat and he swallowed, Adam's apple touching his hand. Then the undertaker wrapped his hand around his throat. He squeezed, gentle, a warning. “Don't you forget who you belong to.”

“You,” Ciel whispered, lowering his eyes. His throat constricted again, soft. Thumb presses into his jugular, pulse shared between them. 

“You’d be dead if I hadn't saved you. Dead like your parents. _Fuck_ , I'll kill you if you even think about leaving me, Ciel.” He lost control, squeezing so hard Ciel sucked in a breath before he couldn't anymore. He tightened his hand so hard that Ciel couldn't speak. His docile nature bored the undertaker so he dropped him. Ciel’s chest rose and fell where he collapsed on the ground. Ciel got to his knees, readjusted his skew eyepatch and ran his fingers through his knotted hair. The undertaker was sifting through his rent money when Ciel left.

………………………………………………..

_Monday._

 

Sebastian rubbed his hands together in the confessional, desperate to warm himself up. It was frosty outside and his knuckles and the tip of his nose stung. He'd drawn the short straw after messing up his face. Claude had stuck him with every undesirable job imaginable. Today Sebastian was taking confessions in a language he didn’t even speak. The walls creaked as another guilt-ridden Parisian took their place in the confessional. 

“ _Bénissez-moi Père, car j'ai péché,_ ” said the voice on the other side of the screen. Sebastian had heard this sentence a trillion times. _Forgive me Father_.

“Tell me,” Sebastian replied in choppy French. The person on the other side hesitated and Sebastian felt himself blush.

“My French is not very good,” he apologised with butchered modesty. The voice laughed, snorting. Sebastian went tense all over.

“No _shit_ ,” laughed his companion. Sebastian clenched his fist, digging his nails into the meat of his palm. He knew that voice had sounded familiar. “I ‘ave a confession to make.”

“Go on,” Sebastian said. He could play this game as well as Ciel. Hell, he could play it better. He heard Ciel clear his throat, and when he spoke again his voice was high and put-on.

“Last week I saw a priest on the wrong side of town,” Ciel whispered, like it was too horrible to say out loud. Sebastian grit his teeth, rolled his eyes to stare at the wooden partition. If look could kill, he'd have burnt a hole through it.

“What was he doing?” Sebastian asked. His voice was as soft as he could make it. He heard the shuffling of fabric, and then a faux sniffle.

“Father, ‘e was _drinking_!” Ciel exclaimed, his voice hitching as if he were beginning to cry. Sebastian sat in silence, mouth pulling at a smile. “Swearing too!”

“I didn't swear,” he said dumbly. There was a scrape of wood and Ciel was peeking through the small window at him. In the dark, Sebastian could only make out the peaks of his face. His teeth peeked past smiling lips.

“But you _were_ drinking,” Ciel teased, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. As Sebastian's eyes adjusted he saw the boy's upturned nose, his heavy gaze. He saw his hand dangling a little bottle of liquor through the partition. Never once did the sickly sweet smile leave his blasphemous mouth.

“Did you sneak in here to get me drunk?” Sebastian chastised, voice low. Ciel laughed, sound pretty in the cramped quarters. The idea was not unattractive. Ciel nodded, and the cork came out of the bottle with a small _pop_. The smaller man tipped back his head and took a long swallow from the glass neck.

“ _Minx_ ,” Sebastian hissed, trying to sound upset. Ciel bought the bottle down to Sebastian, pressing the lip to his mouth. The priest bent to his will and let Ciel pour a chilling slosh of liquor down his throat. He didn't take his eyes off Ciel as he drank. The connection was electric. His chest burnt with liquid confidence.

“Bastard,” Ciel quipped.

………………………………………………..

He told Claude he wasn't feeling well.

His flushed cheeks and the wild look in his eye sealed the deal, and the older priest told him to make himself scarce. It suited both priests well – recently they hadn't been able to stand the sight of each other.

Now with Ciel beside him, looking out at the skyline, Sebastian realised this might be the closest he’d come to a date. Ciel balanced his glass tumbler on his flat stomach and rolled a cigarette with his free hands. It was impressive, almost as interesting as the lantern-lit view. The barn was warm enough to push open the windows and enjoy the Parisian night-scape.

“You're an alcoholic,” Ciel said to him. Sebastian couldn't help but laugh, glass already raised to his lips. His face was warm, his legs boneless as he laid back on his elbows. Ciel wasn't wrong. The bottle was half slain between them.

As candle light jumped around the barn, Sebastian looked at the bruise across Ciel's face. It dulled the buzz in his body, much like the first time he'd seen it. Ciel had turned his chin up and acted like he didn't have a hand-shaped mark across his cheek.

“Show me your face,” he said. Ciel seemed to revolt, turning his head away to stare at the other side of the room.

“Stop getting worked up,” Ciel shrugged. He mumbled around the cigarette he pinched between his lips. “ _You_ don’t look any better.“

“I won't get mad,” Sebastian lied and Ciel laughed, sharp and mean. When he rolled back over his smoke was lit, miasma hitting Sebastian's nose, making him scrunch his face up. Ciel's arm brushed against his as he got comfortable again.

“ _I won’t get mad_ ,” Ciel drawled, in a fake American accent. He rolled his eye. “You get mad _so_ easy.” Ciel flicked his eye from Sebastian's face down to where the priest had coiled his fist. The younger tapped at his tight knuckles with his pinky finger. His eye looked brilliant against the red of his mottled face.

“Did he hit you again?” Sebastian asked, looking down at where Ciel was touching his hand. Ciel made a noise, tucked his hair back and exhaled.

“ _Obviously_ ,” he uttered. Sebastian's fist clenched and Ciel smoothed his whole hand over the tense knot of fingers. “I'm okay Bastian,” he huffed. He squeezed Sebastian's fist and looked up at him. He even smiled the tiniest bit.

“If he hits you again I'll _tear him apart_ ,” Sebastian hissed through his teeth. Ciel widened his eye, as alarmed by the sudden declaration as Sebastian was. His heart was thudding so hard in his chest he couldn't help the words he'd stammered. Ciel blinked at him, hand hesitating where it touched his own. He took his hand away to stub his cigarette and Sebastian mourned the loss.

“You're over-reacting,” Ciel said in calm, cautious words. He reached up and slid his eyepatch off his head and looked at him with both eyes. The sight was alarming. The thrill never dulled when Sebastian saw his friend's full, unprotected face. Ciel had disarmed him. Sebastian found himself nodding even though he wasn't sure. 

Ciel delivered the final blow by touching his hand again. He pressed at his fist until Sebastian opened his fingers and took Ciel's hand into his own. Ciel's skinny fingers curled over his knuckles and soothed them with the back of his thumb. Sebastian's chest relaxed. His scowl fell. He let go of the hate bottled up in his heart and let something lovelier quell him. 

If this was the closest Sebastian ever came to a date he didn't mind. In that moment, with Ciel holding his hand and sucking the air from his lungs, he didn't want to be anywhere else.

………………………………………………..

_Friday night._

 

Bard’s face fell when he saw him. His stubbled jaw tensed as Ciel approached him, eyes cold over the edge of his glass tumbler. Ciel clicked his tongue, moved to sit close to Bard like he always did, but the blonde caught him by the waist.

“That's not pretty,” he chastised, eyes roaming over the bruise smattering Ciel's face. It started under his good eye and smeared over his nose, disappeared under his eyepatch. The boy rolled his eye and pressed himself a little closer to the familiar body.

“So you won't fuck me,” he said, chin raised. Bard laughed, their chests pressed so close that Ciel felt him rumble low in his belly. Bard's jaw brushed the side of his neck, alcohol-slick lips pressed a lovely kiss into his pierced ear.

“Didn't say that princess,” he muttered, low and filthy. A shudder ran up Ciel's spine, raised all the fine hairs on his neck and arms. He squeezed his fingers into Bard's bicep, felt him twitch under tattooed oceans and roses. The bigger, older man drew Ciel's slight body even closer. 

“Buy me a drink first,” Ciel demanded, nails catching on the sails of an ink-lined boat. Bard laughed again, tugging Ciel forward until they were both sitting in their usual spot. Bard's friends paid him no mind, nodded at Ciel as he draped himself over his best customer.

“One step ahead of you,” Bard grinned, handing Ciel the rest of his drink. The boy flashed him a smile, let his teeth clink the glass as he raised it to his lips and finished it in one gulp. He let the liquid burn his chest. 

He let it burn away the reminder that he hadn’t slept with anyone for a week.

………………………………………………..

Ciel was drunk.

His body felt heavy, languid. He was warm all over, knew he was red from his face to his chest. He could feel a trail of blush from his mouth to where the alcohol settled in him. He struggled to stay up on his elbows, his knees slipping on the bedsheets as Bard kissed his sweaty back.

“Settle dove,” the blonde cooed, strong hands on the back of Ciel's thighs. He squeezed, let the milky flesh give way under his calloused thumbs. Ciel protested the nickname, let his stomach touch the bed as he arched his back higher.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Ciel groaned, his fingers twisting in the sheets. With his face swallowed by pillows he could only look between his legs and see Bard's thighs pressed to his own. The blonde's length brushed up against the side of his leg and Ciel's toes curled in his unlaced boots. Bard spat on him unceremoniously, used the slick to circle the rough pad of his finger against his hole. The air rushed out of Ciel's lungs when he sunk his finger into the first knuckle.

“Jesus Christ,” Bard keened as Ciel clenched around his finger. Ciel felt like putty, limp with alcohol and unashamed as he spread his legs further apart. Bard eased his finger in deeper until his palm was flush against him. Ciel made a strangled noise when he crooked it, and Bard laughed over his damp neck.

“You always liked this part the most,” he muttered, almost fond. Ciel's face was already so hot, he barley responded. He couldn't lie, not when he was gagging for it. He backed up against Bard's finger and rocked back on it. Bard made that fond sound again.

“Fuck, you like getting fingered more than you like getting fucked.” He groaned into Ciel's ear and the boy shuddered at his words. He was revolted. He trembled all over when Bard shoved his finger in and out. He cried against the pillowcase, so warm he couldn't feel the mattress anymore. His mouth was wet, drool on the pillows.

“Shut _up_!” He begged, flinching when Bard's finger slipped out of him and he pressed two back in. The blonde swore into his hair, crowded over him until Ciel could feel his stomach muscles tense on his back.

“So gorgeous,” he breathed again, crushing Ciel’s smaller body under his much larger one. Ciel’s knees folded under himself until they were under his chin. Bard was a hot weight against his spine. “Can’t wait to have you on my cock.”

………………………………………………..

Afterwards, Ciel couldn't move.

He was too drunk, he felt too good. He managed to roll onto his back, completely naked, as Bard collapsed beside him. The blonde patted for his cigarettes and then lit one for the both of them. Ciel mouthed his smoke, let the tendrils twist between his teeth and linger until he coughed. Bard stretched his sweaty, tattooed arm out behind him, earning him a glare from the smaller.

“What's the matter pigeon?” He asked, moving Ciel's sweat-damp hair off his face. His thumb moved back over the bruise in the centre of his features. Ciel screwed up his nose.

“Stop calling me bird names,” he muttered. He was boneless, too weak to roll away from the prying touch.

“You in trouble?” Ciel shook his head. He stared at the tattoo on Bard’s forearm – a ship on rough waters. It shimmered when the bigger man flexed. Bard narrowed his eyes and kept staring at the mark across Ciel’s face. 

“You should worry about your wife, not beat-up whores, _don’t you think_?” Ciel said in a sing-song voice, cigarette perched between his pale fingers. Bard gave him that a look, a quite and content smile. 

“My wife's never had her lights knocked out,” Bard smiled, tight-lipped. He looked so serious, almost a stranger. Ciel lowered his eye and stretched his arm to ash his cigarette on the bedside table. When he rolled back over Bard had moved closer, was looking down at Ciel with a soft, familiar look in his pale blue eyes. 

“Don’t you dare kiss me,” Ciel growled. He shoved his palm against Bard’s chest with a wet slap. The bigger blonde smiled stupidly, grinning ear to ear. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Why not? We’ve done everything else.” Ciel rolled his eye but his cheeks betrayed him. They went pink, his voice trembled when he spoke.

“It’s the _most_ intimate thing you can do,” he admitted. He wanted to sound matter-of-factly but he came across shy. Bard’s eyes softened.

“I’ll wear you down eventually,” the blonde promised. Ciel couldn’t help but smile, and he shook his head with confidence.

“No way in hell. I’m saving my first kiss.”

"Lucky guy," Bard grinned.

………………………………………………..

_Sunday night._

 

“This is a joke, right?” The undertaker barked, looking at the meagre offering on the kitchen table. Ciel kept his eyes to the floor. Even the living quarters of his guardian's home smelt like death. The small stack of coins was all Ciel had earned. _For the entire week_. He’d never made so little. He knew he deserved whatever he had coming.

The first smack was a surprise. The sound, more than anything, sent Ciel stumbling back a few feet until his back his the wall. He clasped a hand over his cheek. His skin was hot, red. There were tears in Ciel’s eyes already, involuntary. The undertaker filled the space between them, then hit him again. Ciel yelped as he was back-handed. His knees hit the floor and he hissed. His guardian laughed.

“If you do this again, I’ll kill you,” he barked. Ciel turned his cheek as the undertaker stepped in close. Instead of hitting him he grabbed a fistful of his hair. Ciel stared down at the ground. He nodded his head, his hair tugging at his scalp.

“I’m serious Ciel, I will fucking **_kill_** you!” The older man yelled, jerking his hand back until Ciel’s head was shoved up against the wall. He let go of his hair to smash his head into the wood. The boy gasped, breath catching in his throat. He squared his shoulders but the undertaker threw him back easily. His head hit the wall with a sick _thud_. Ciel opened his mouth but no noise came out. His head hit the wall again. The back of his hair was hot and wet. The undertaker stepped back and the boy raised his hand to touch the back of his neck. He was bleeding. His hand shook as he started to go into shock.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, staring at his bloody fingers. His heart was in his throat. He wanted to throw up. He could feel more blood sliding down the nape of his neck, staining his shirt. He apologised again, hearing his guardian huff.

“You must think I’m fucking stupid _huh_?” The undertaker crouched down to look at him. Ciel shook his head.

“No, God I don’t think that,” he begged. His hand came up to reach for his guardian but the man jerked away from him. Ciel landed on his hands and knees. He watched as blood slithered off his neck and onto the floor. His guardian cupped the back of his head, pushed his fingers into damp locks of bloody hair. Then he pulled. Ciel screamed so loud he didn’t recognise himself. All he could feel was the sharp, blinding stab of his hair being ripped out of the wound on his head. 

“You're gonna get me the rest of the money,” he heard his guardian order. Ciel couldn’t even see him, just a blurry mass of darkness. He nodded dumbly. He didn’t even feel the next slap across his face. He could only register the wet pull of his hair when the undertaker dropped him to the floor.

“I don't care how, but you'll get it. You're the biggest slut in Paris, I'm sure you'll find a way.” Ciel's nose was running. He tried to cover his head with his hands but the undertaker was dragging him back onto his feet. His hands fisted into his bloodied shirt as he shoved him against the door.

“If you don't pay me, I'd better not see your face around here again. You know why?”

“You’ll kill me,” Ciel whispered. His guardian nodded, a smile on the side of his mouth. He reached behind Ciel and opened the door.

“Yeah, I'll fucking kill you.” Ciel felt cold wind blow right through his stolen coat. Hands still clinging to the front of the boy’s shirt. The undertaker backed Ciel out onto the frigid second-storey landing. It was illuminated in dull lantern light. The undertaker glanced down the long, narrow staircase that lead to the courtyard below. Ciel’s heart stopped.

“Don’t,” he sobbed. His hands shot up and clung to the undertaker’s wrists. His guardian pressed against him until he was forced to move. His back turned to the dark staircase. He shifted backwards and felt the heel of his boot dip over the edge of the stairs. His stomach dropped. “Please don’t,” he mumbled again. The cold air stung the back of his head and the spit around his mouth. His face still throbbed.

The undertaker leaned in close, pressed his mouth into the side of the boy’s face. He pressed a wet, cold kiss to his jaw. Then he shoved him, let go of his wrists so Ciel fell backwards down the staircase.

………………………………………………..

Sebastian was distracted.

When he worked with Claude he blinded by fury. He ground his teeth, bit his tongue, cursed violent thoughts towards his superior. He wished pain upon him, but worked alongside him like nothing was wrong. The pink scar on Claude's nose drove him to insanity every morning.

He thought about Ciel a lot. He thought about the narrowness of his wrists and the way his knuckles always looked pink. His nose too, bitten with frost. His mouth, his small baby-like teeth. His posture, the way he stood to his full height and only made it to Sebastian's shoulders. His smell, powdery like pressing your nose between the pages of old books.

Sebastian was so deep in thought that he didn't notice the woman until she cleared her throat. He'd seen her before. The pretty blonde in pale blue dresses, who always smelt like artificial flowers. He had an arm-full of Bibles, and one in his hand. She was the only one still in the church, dressed in a pretty blue dress. Her perfume reminded Sebastian of home.

“Father Michaelis,” she greeted – voice handsome. She smiled, her face was like summer. Full, warm. Her hair burnt blonde, freckles on her nose and eyes a sharp blue like her pale dress. She toyed with the lace of her glove.

“I know your French isn't strong. My name is Emma.” She spoke in heavily-accented English, voice low for a woman.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sebastian replied. Her returned smile was so radiant it made Sebastian’s heart flutter.

“I only wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your sermon.” She flushed and looked down at her hands. Sebastian felt butterflies stir in his stomach, she made him nervous. 

“That's so kind of you to say,” he said back to her. He quirked up the corners of his mouth and she beamed. Still pulling at her glove she looked him in the eyes again.

“Forgive me if I’m too brash but… Could I invite you to dinner, Father?” Her voice was hushed, nervous. Sebastian widened his eyes. His heart stammered. He felt his face go warm, his throat tighten.

“I can't,” he muttered. She nodded.

“You're sworn to celibacy right? You can’t marry.” Sebastian nodded, sheepish. Emma’s cheeks went dark but she flipped her hand back and forth like it was nothing. She was gorgeous and Sebastian felt a tug of want. She wet her lips with her tongue and the priest wondered what her mouth tasted like. Sweet, probably. He imagined kissing her, taking her small waist in her hands and leaning down to be with her. His heart ran as wild as his imagination. 

“You must be awful lonely,” she said, her hand reached out to cup the back of Sebastian's elbow. Her tiny fingers stroked him through his clothes. He felt a pang in his heart. He wasn't lonely. He had Ciel.

He _always_ thought about Ciel. The boy was familiar territory – the same way his childhood home held a safe spot in his heart. He was a constant, certain presence like the back of the priest’s own hand. His best friend. His family. His Ciel. He was so treasured in his own mind, such certain sacred consciousness. He breathed Ciel. He exhaled loudly, stupidly aware of his own tender feelings.

“I’m not lonely,” he blurted. Emma frowned, her smile falling. He took his hand away from hers. He felt overwhelmed with guilt. He took a step back and a crease formed between the woman’s lovely eyes. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. He excused himself, watched her bewildered expression as he backed up and sprinted from the church. _Ciel Ciel Ciel Ciel Ciel_.

He unlocked his cottage door and closed it hard behind him, fumbling with the lock. He sucked in a breath, shut his eyes but he couldn't stop shaking. He couldn't stop thinking about Ciel. Rude-mouthed, slender, pretty, _forbidden_ Ciel.

Sebastian threw himself onto the bed. He brushed his lips over the back of his knuckles. His breath tickled his hand. He put a chaste kiss onto his own skin and breathed out over the damp spot. He closed his eyes and traced over his own mouth with his fingers. He tried to think of anything other than kissing. He especially tried to ignore any thoughts of his best friend. Ciel’s mouth was forbidden territory - both in his mind, and to the lips of men.

Sebastian imagined pressing his mouth down onto Ciel’s. He imagined breathing through his nose, tilting his head and watching the boy shut both his eyes. Thought of the way his eyebrows would draw up, how he’d smooth his thumb over Ciel’s cheekbone. He wondered if he’d be noisy. If Ciel would keen against his kiss and open his mouth to breath hot and heavy over parted lips. His mouth would be red. His eyes still squeezed shut.

Sebastian thought about the night he’d had an asthma attack. When Ciel had kissed his injured head and licked the blood off his mouth. Sebastian imagined dragging his tongue across Ciel’s bottom lip. He went hot all over when he imagined pushing his tongue over Ciel’s blood-smeared teeth. Tasting him. Swallowing any little sounds he might make. Ciel would kiss like he ate. Insatiable. Messy. Like he might never eat again.

Sebastian opened his eyes and stared at his steeped ceiling. His heart was beating so fast he could hear it. He felt so warm. He was hard. He stared down at his tented trousers and clenched his fists by his side. He shouldn’t. It was forbidden. _Forbidden_. The word made him _throb_. Suddenly his hand was off the bedspread and between his legs. He breathed out through his nose, shaking. The pads of his two middle fingers scarcely grazed the stiff mass beneath the fabric. 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” he muttered, flexing his fingers until the warmth of his hand shrouded his length. He shut his eyes again and threw his head back on the mattress. The heat of his palm was enough. He squeezed himself and groaned involuntarily. His other hand shot over his mouth, embarrassed. Then, with his eyes still shut he fumbled with the button of his trousers. His hand froze, fingers edging over the unfastened opening. He’d never taken it this far before. His other hand dropped from his mouth and reached up over his head. His fingers searched beneath his pillow until they found the photo of Ciel.

“ _Ohh f_ -“ Sebastian bit his lip, hand trembling where it held the photo. Ciel would kill him if he ever found out. The idea made Sebastian’s blood pool further south. He looked at the photo almost every day. He had it memorised. Ciel’s short hair, half-closed eye, fingers splayed over the patterned fabric. There was a crease of skin between his lower back and ass - that was the bit the priest thought of most. He’d never looked at the photo like this before. He’d never looked at Ciel’s naked back with his hand wrapped around his cock.

It didn’t take much for Sebastian to come. Thirty years old, never-been-touched. All it took were his fingers stuck through the opening of his trousers. A few messy jerks into the loose grip of his fist and he was lifting his hips off the mattress. The thought of Ciel’s shiny, red mouth and that pissed off face he made. Sebastian pressed his mouth into his shoulder and cried like he was wounded. He shuddered, temporarily mindless. The room slipped out of focus. He twitched against his damp hand. The photo of Ciel was bent a little where he’d clenched it.

Sebastian rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling again. His hand was still wrapped around himself. He shivered as the sweat covering his neck and shoulders cooled. He flipped the photo of Ciel around, pressing it face down into the bedsheets. His heart fluttered like hummingbird wings, his fingers twitched between his legs. He sucked in a deep breath and used his free hand to push overwhelmed tears out of his eyes.

He turned the photo back around, rolled onto his side to look at Ciel's face. His heart clenched. He felt selfish. He stared at Ciel's face until he fell asleep on the still-made bed. Snow started to fall outside. It fell on the gardens, it covered the steeple. It landed on the undertaker’s rooftop and it covered the staircase. Snow landed on Ciel's cheek and in his hair. It fell in his open, bloody mouth. He didn't wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... ask me shit on Tumblr!


	11. Onze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr because I write heaps of prompts and shit,  
> where these assholes do stuff other than cry and dream about kissing each other: bun-o-ween.tumblr.com

_Because it’s hard for me, my baby - and the darkest hour is just before dawn._

 ……………………………………………………………………………

  

The kid had always been little.

He was built in miniature. Delicate in every way, from his upturned nose to his doll-like fingers. He was so small the undertaker could almost ignore he was there. Ciel fit into his life the way a mouse would – with little disturbances. He ate small meals, took small steps, had quiet asthma attacks in the dead of night. He read upstairs while the blonde worked downstairs. He was too scared of the corpses to spend anytime down there.

When they cut out Ciel's eye it was a shock. The kid had been complaining about it for a while, rubbing at his eye with the heel of his hand. It looked red, sore. He could only open it halfway and he couldn’t see from it. Eventually the undertaker caved. He grew tired of the tiny, miserable sobs echoing up the hall late at night. He figured it was allergies, that's why he was surprised when they cut the cancerous eye right out of his skull.

The glass eye wasn't cheap. It was plain, white and glossy. Ugly, but a fraction of the cost of the realistic eyes with painted irises. The eye stayed in the undertaker's bedside as the boy recovered, his hair peeking through the bandages. He looked even smaller, like he might break. The first night he came home from the hospital he didn't even eat. He pushed his dinner around on the plate, a far-away look in his one remaining eye. The undertaker glanced into the dark of Ciel's room before he went to bed. He watched the small rise of his body beneath the covers. An hour later he heard a creak at his bedroom door.

The blonde pretended to be asleep. He heard Ciel tip-toe into the room and stand at the side of the bed. His breath was thick, syrupy like he'd been crying. He sniffled.

“Adrian?” He whispered. The undertaker didn't move. Ciel drew in a staggered breath and then the blonde felt a small hand on his arm, shaking him. He sighed, opened his eyes to finally look at his ward.

“What?” He said. Ciel's face was wet with tears, his other hand cupping the bandaged side of his face. 

“It hurts,” he mumbled, lip wobbling. He looked at his guardian expectantly.

“There's nothing I can do,” he said into the dark.

“Can I sleep in here?” Ciel whispered. The undertaker blinked, not sure how to answer. Ciel's wet face waited. His small shoulders shook with silent sobs. The older man rolled onto his back and shifted back to make room.

“Get in,” he muttered, Ciel already clambering onto the bed and ducking beneath the covers. He was a flurry of hair and linen, cold feet brushing the man's shins as he fidgeted closer. The kid's head found the crook of his shoulder and he squirmed until he was curled into the older's chest. He was cold, so the undertaker pulled the blankets up over his shoulders. 

“Go to sleep now,” he ordered. Ciel shifted his head and looked up at his guardian. His eye was heavy with sleep. He rubbed the tears off his face with the sleeves of his nightshirt and nodded. He settled his face into a spot on the undertaker's chest and watched him through a half-shut eye. When the undertaker put an arm over his body and pulled him closer, Ciel finally fell asleep. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Sunday night._

 

Ash fell and burnt the back of Ciel’s knuckles.

Everything stung. The snow. The tear in his trousers where the wind kissed his grazed knee. The tear-stained slap across his nose. Now the back of his knuckles. For a moment Ciel considered he might have died. When he woke up, buried in a grave of fresh snow - it was him and the moon. Even now, as he leaned over the edge of the icy bridge, there was not a single soul around. Only him, and his reflection in the steaming river 

He tapped his cigarette and the ash fell on his twin, warbled it beyond recognition. The stars danced in the water, the stream bubbled and sung. Ciel leaned further forward on his elbows until he was on tip-toe, gazing over the edge. For the umpteenth time in his teenage life, he considered slipping off the edge and into oblivion.

Ciel couldn’t swim, so he would drown. At least, if his asthma didn’t kill him first. The river was so cold Ciel could feel it underneath him, in his bones. Like a bitter, steel path that made the bruises on his legs _ache_. He shut his eyes when he felt his heart start to swell in his throat, made him gulp like the air was water. His chin quivered and he pressed the heel of his palm into his eye. The tears came regardless but Ciel wiped at them like he could push them back in. His cigarette died, it's corpse dropped into the black water instead of Ciel’s. 

The boy dug his hands into the depths of his pockets, one hand grasping a pouch of tobacco. The other brushed against the cool, smooth length of the key Sebastian had given to him. For a moment he stood, both hands in his pockets, fingers wrapped around two decisions. He couldn't go home, not after _that_. He was in so much pain he couldn’t stand. The cold hurt as sharply as the _thud_ of concrete against the back of his head. 

He looked down at the river again and saw a smudge of his reflection. Little snowflakes fell on the surface and in his hair. He wiped at his face again and headed in the opposite direction of home.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Monday._

 

Dawn thawed snowflakes into fairy-like rain.

Ineffectual droplets kissed the bridge of the priest's nose. He thumped Ciel's front door _again_. The wood rattled in it's shackles, the wind howled under the gap. There was silence and Sebastian swallowed. He stepped back and looked up at the windowsill, loose ivy twisting in the wind. The window was shut, the faded glass dark and motionless. 

The square behind him was languid in action. A few stubborn vendors had set up despite the rain. Consumers walked under the awnings of crooked houses, pressed up to the brick to keep dry. A kid kicked something across the alley, the sound echoed over the square. Sebastian raised his fist to knock again but he stopped when he noticed something from the corner of his eye.

The undertaker was watching him from the second-story window of the next building over. Hairs raised on the back of Sebastian's neck. The priest felt a prick of heat in his belly, a primitive rage that Ciel would have chastised him for.

“Où est Ciel?” He said over the wind. The undertaker raised an eyebrow, flicked his gaze up to the window of Ciel's apartment. Then he looked down at the priest again. He backed up, pulled the window shut with a crude click. Sebastian released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When he saw the wet, unlaced boot at the foot of the stairs the priest almost wept with relief.

“Ciel?” He barked, taking the stairs two at a time. He could smell the fireplace before he saw it, alive and ashy against the old smell of the barn.

“What?” Sebastian wanted to sing when he heard that thick, syrupy voice. There he was, perched up on the edge of the windowsill. One hand was under an open book and the other held a cigarette out the open window. The wind tousled his inky hair, made the flames in the fire jump a little higher. Ciel stubbed out his smoke and drew his legs in closer to his chest. He was wearing shorts, his legs completely bare but for twin scrapes across his knees.

“What are you doing here?” He was breathless from excitement, he tried to sound non-accusatory. A little frown appeared in Ciel's brow and he bent the corner of the page he'd been reading.

“You gave me a key,” he said.

“I meant,” Sebastian came a bit closer, let his eyes follow the line of his legs, down to his narrow ankles. “Is everything okay?” Ciel pressed closer to the windowsill, he shrunk into the wood. The priest came close enough to see the bruises kissing his legs.

“Can I stay ‘ere for a bit?” Ciel asked, and Sebastian was thrown off by how polite he sounded. He nodded, traversed his eyes from ankles to sock-less feet. When he looked up Ciel was staring at him, mouth pressed tight in seriousness. He searched the priest's face, words trapped behind his teeth. His bottom lip was darker than normal, a little nick marred the flesh. 

“Did something happen?” Sebastian waited for him to lie. Ciel stared back at him, opened his mouth but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t lie, not with the truth slapped across his face. He was unusually sombre and he lowered his head, stared at the tops of his ripped, bloody knees.

“I can't go ‘ome right now,” he finally answered. He looked up through his eyelashes, his cheeks looked so pink in the window light. Sebastian lifted his chin and examined his cheek. The priest thought it was especially heinous to hit something this pretty across the face.

“Your neighbour, the undertaker.” The boy looked up with a wide eye. He swallowed so hard the priest could see it.

“He raised me.”

“And he did this to you?” Sebastian turned his cheek into the light.

“I couldn't pay rent for last week.” Sebastian sighed. His thumb moved over the cut on Ciel's mouth.

“Do you need money?” Ciel groaned, rolled his eye and turned his head away.

“ _No_ ,” he bit. “I just didn't make enough last week.” Sebastian exhaled, his shoulders fell. Ciel flicked his gaze over him, from his belt to his face.

“ _Jesus_ , don't look so fucking ‘opeful. I'm still a whore. I ‘ad a bad week.” Sebastian’s eyes roamed over his naked legs, his collarbone that peeked through his shirt. Even his mouth, slapped raw and pretty. He found it difficult to believe Ciel Phantomhive could ever have a bad week. Jealousy consumed him. Ciel’s heartbeat under his fingers when he squeezed his jaw harder.

“So what, he beat you over money?” He didn't mean for his voice to come out so harsh and ugly. Ciel's pulse spiked and that's when the priest realised the heartbeat he could feel was his own. It throbbed from within, deafened the noise of rain on the roof above.

“Bastian, stop.” Ciel’s voice is deeper, his mouth started to tug down in the corners. He reached out and wrapped his hand around the priest's wrist. He rubbed at his pulse and didn't break the intense eye contact that Sebastian refused to soften.

“You said I was _overreacting_ ,” Sebastian bit. He squeezed Ciel's chin, arm shaking and he felt Ciel dig his nails into his skin like a warning. 

“I'm sorry,” he muttered. He finally turned his head up and out of the harsh touch the priest delivered. There was something tired behind Ciel's eye, the priest could tell he'd had enough. Even though he turned his head, he didn't let go of his wrist.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Tuesday._

 

Ciel's honesty came and went with the rain.

By Tuesday afternoon he was a closed book again. His face betrayed nothing but an annoyed frown. The barn looked neater since he'd left the day before. The boxes had been pushed into neat stacks against the walls, and Ciel had discovered the donated bed. He pushed it up against one of the big, warehouse windows and made a temporary home. There were books by the bed, rummaged from one of the charity donations. The one on top was in French and Sebastian couldn’t read the title.

The bibliophile himself was deep in sleep. It was past noon but Ciel was passed out on the bed in a sliver of afternoon sun. _I have a cat now_ , the priest lamented. He placed a stack of sheets at the foot of the bed. They're new, pale linen. He washed them the night before and now they smell like his own. Ciel wore a pair of shorts in the same material – the shorts we wore the night before. They're little, sewn for children. His legs were dotted in bruises. The priest stared at him until he felt hot. He realised if Ciel caught him staring like _this_ , he would break his nose. Again. He cleared his throat and tapped the boy on his shoulder.

“Get up, I bought pie.” Ciel woke to the magic words. His face was clouded over with sleep. He stretched out his coltish legs and rolled onto his belly. The little shorts edged up his leg and cut into the meaty flesh of his thigh. Sebastian turned his back on the display and stalked off to the kitchen.

The pie was still warm. When the priest peeled back the cloth from the top, it's smell filled the airy room. He watched from the corner of his eye as Ciel got out of bed, readjusted his shorts to a modest length, and padded on over. He slid an eighth of pie across the counter and the boy started shovelling it into his mouth like he were dying.

“Elegant,” Sebastian goaded, watching sticky, red syrup drip down the side of Ciel's mouth. The boy eyed him with a mouthful of fork, fixed him with that empty glass gaze. Sebastian felt heat pool in his gut.

“Where'd you get a pie?” Ciel muttered, mouth full. He pushed another chunk between his cherry-red lips.

“A woman made it for me,” Sebastian watched as Ciel stopped mid-chew to wrinkle his nose.

“I think she likes me,” he tried again. He watched Ciel laugh, crumbs of pastry flying out of his mouth and across the table.

“Let me guess. She's old? _Demented?_ ” He snickered, and Sebastian felt something nasty flicker in his gut. He watched Ciel's eyes narrow in mirth, his own face warm in humiliation.

“She's young, actually. Very beautiful,” he added, the words heavy in his mouth. He felt dumb as soon as he said them. Ciel swallowed and instead of taking another bite he pushed the rest of his pie around the plate. 

“What's she look like?” He shrugged. He flicked his gaze up for a moment, then looked back down at the ruined pie. Sebastian knew he should keep his mouth shut.

“Blonde, full-figured, gentle.”

“ _Oh_. That’s what you like?” Ciel sneered, looking at him again. His eyes didn't waver, they waited for an answer. His mouth was tugged down, imperious chin raised.

“Not exactly,” Sebastian said, lowering his eyes to Ciel's mouth. _The exact opposite_ , he wanted to say. The boy huffed, dropping the fork onto the china, making it rattle. It was the first time he'd seen Ciel leave a plate half-finished. He just had to open his stupid mouth.

“She must be demented to want you,” he said without emotion. He pushed the remains of the pie into the rubbish and grabbed his smokes from beside the fruit bowl. He stalked off to the window, perched up on the ledge and started smoking. He didn't come down for the rest of the morning.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Wednesday._

 

The barn smelt like bath water.

Ciel sank deeper into the lukewarm pool, his back against the chilled surface of the tub. From across the room he could see his face in the mirror, reflected over the surface of the bath. He studied his face, his sunken cheeks and dark hair. He touched the pink scar against his bad eye and blinked, flinched. It stared back at him without emotion.

His heart hurt. It was the weight of a hardcover book. In the shimmering bath he could see the dark blotched bruises on his legs, his hip, the soft of his belly, but they weren't what bothered him. When he looked back up into his reflection, he grimaced.

_Blonde. Full-figured. Gentle._

Ciel snared at himself and sank down so low he couldn't see his face anymore. He sank down into the tub. The warmth envelop his chin, his nose, and then his entire head as he slipped below the surface. The roof warbled and swum. Ciel shut his eyes and laid on the floor of the tub for a moment. His heart anchored him to the bottom, body a shipwreck. He felt his soul rust away, creak in hopelessness, happiness slip away through the gaps in his ribcage.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The paper bag of groceries was so tall Sebastian couldn’t see over it. It smelt like something pure and the paper rustled in his hands. The priest used his shoulder to push open the door of the barn and he took to the stairs two at a time.

It's unseasonably warm, and he stripped off his jacket as soon as the groceries were in the kitchenette. As he pushed the sleeves over his elbows he turned and caught sight of Ciel sitting in the bath tub. He sat startled, eyes open and wet all over.

“Sebastian,” he said, breathless as water dripped off his nose. His hair was longer wet, the tips billowing under the surface of the tub like ink. He licked his wet lips and sat up straighter in the tub, knees breaking the surface so he could bring them to his chest. He looked as if he wants nothing more than for Sebastian to stop staring but the priest was bewitched.

Ciel's shoulders sloped into the bath, his hair clung like tentacles all over his milk skin. He looked like something from the sea with his blue-ish black hair and Caribbean eye. His fingers curled over the edge of the bath, knuckles blush and tense. He rose further from the water and his nipples are the same colour as his mouth.

“What?” He growled, face twisting into something nasty. He leaned back into the bath like he was careless – but his fingers remained tense on the porcelain lip.

“It looks nice in here,” Sebastian explained. The floors shone like they'd been mopped, and the familiar smell of dust was replaced with citrus. There was even the faint miasma of tea. The barn looked lived in. It felt like coming home.

“I cleaned,” he dismissed, raising his eyebrow. His fingers twitched, a drop of water ran off his nail and plopped onto the wooden floor.

“You're my housewife,” Sebastian said, smirking. Ciel finally let go of the side of the bath, his face paling whiter.

“I'm not a woman.” He sat up straight, eyes murderous. His knees came down from his chest and Sebastian eyed his flat chest, his broad shoulders. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth.

“I've noticed,” Sebastian bit back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was Thursday night and almost a week since Ciel last slept with someone. 

He didn't want to admit it felt good. He still had an itch, an insatiable desire to be pressed into a mattress or a wall and be _had_.  But it was nothing he couldn't take care of himself, in the comfort of a bed that smelt like the man he was in lust with. He didn't want to admit he _liked_ waking without a hangover, and without bite marks on his throat. His mouth tasted like _mouth_ – and not the skin of a dozen strangers. Sebastian laden the barn with excessive mounds of fruit, potatoes and coffee. He went to bed full, he woke at dawn. He ate apples and smoked over a new book under the kiss of the rising sun. 

He didn't want to admit it felt good, because despite the sunshine, he was overshadowed by a dread deep in his gut. It had been a week since he'd fucked anyone, and he was the brokest he'd been in his life. The back of his head still throbbed in painful reminder of the choice he had to make.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel tossed back another glass of rum.

The man next to him wasn't handsome in the slightest, but with each drink he became slightly less repulsive. The man and his friend were red-cheeked and unshaved, rowdy and ungracious. They didn't bother to reserve their hungry stares for Ciel but tonight the boy didn't mind.

The shorter man squeezed his hips. His meaty fingers handling him with so little care that Ciel almost hit him. He scowled, but he'd drunk so much the expression melted off his features. The tall one laughed, his stale, drunk breath washed over Ciel's face and churned the contents of his stomach.

“What's the matter?” He cooed, cupping Ciel's face like a child. Ciel felt sick. The calloused, sweat-damp hand of the short man slipped under his shirt and Ciel squeezed his eyes shut. _Money, money, money,_ he muttered to himself as the tall man traced the outline of his hips.

“He's shy,” laughed the short man. He pushed Ciel against the wall, into the wall of pornographic photos. He felt as flimsy and cheap as the photos themselves. The taller man leaned over him, bent down a little to grab a handful of his ass. He pinched it and Ciel flinched, squirming up on his toes to escape. 

“Not shy,” he mumbled. He was so drunk his mouth wouldn't work. The men laughed at him again. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. He watched as it slipped out of focus.

“No need to be shy,” one grinned. Their stale, musky breath washed over Ciel's mouth again and he gagged. Bile raised in his throat and he had to shut his eyes again, will it back down.

“I'm not _shy_ you piece of shit,” Ciel growled. He pressed against the bigger body, felt his sweaty torso crush him harder into the dirty wall. He gagged again, slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Get the fuck off me,” he squealed through his fingers, squirming like a captured cat. He twisted out of their grip, stumbled forward into the crowded bar. He could smell _everything_. The spill of cheap liquor on the floor. The rank perfume of other whores. The imprint of body odour left by the two, potential Johns. He was hardly out the door when the stomach acid stung his throat and he vomited into the snow. One hand slapped up against the slick cobble walls to hold himself up. The other clutched his stomach, upending the drinks he didn't pay for.

……………………………………………………………………………

Sebastian wasn't surprised when his bedroom window opened, but he wasn't pleased either.

The candlelight jumped when the breeze came in, bringing the Parisian with it. Ciel didn't bother to be quiet, snow falling off his coat and melting into the worn carpet. He swore, squirming out of his boots and dumping his coat. Sebastian watched him over the pages of his book.

“It's so _fucking_ cold,” Ciel hissed. He peeled off his damp shirt and threw it next to his shoes. Sebastian threw back the blankets without taking his eyes off the page. He read the same sentence over and over again. Sebastian threw back the blankets without taking his eyes off the page. He read the same sentence over and over again. He waited until Ciel crawled into bed beside him. The priest grunted when his elbow dug into his ribs and he grit his teeth. The boy stilled and that's when Sebastian reached over and pinched his face. Ciel yowled.

“That was for swearing,” he chided. He kept pretending to read. Ciel rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand. 

“Should try it sometime,” Ciel grinned. His cheek was ruddy from being pinched. Sebastian glanced to the side and their eyes met, Ciel's glimmered with daring. For a second the priest considered grabbing the pretty boy's jaw. He imagined forcing him into the sheets and muttering _fuck you_ up against his ear – to see what he would do. He licked his lips and went back to his book instead.

“Did you go out?” Sebastian asked, trying to sound as if he didn't already know the answer. He could smell the alcohol on the petite boy.

“I didn't fuck anyone,” Ciel replied. He was staring at the side of the priest's head, waiting. The priest hadn't read a single word since Ciel had laid down in his bed.

“Wow, you're practically a virgin.” Sebastian gave a tight-lipped smile and narrowed his eyes. Ciel punched him in the chest and it hurt in a way that made the priest tongue the inside of his cheek.

“Says you,” Ciel drawled, accent thick. He hooked his finger into the band of Sebastian's pyjamas and tugged up hard. The priest groaned, grabbed Ciel's wrist and squeezed him so rough he made the same sound.

“You're so annoying when you're drunk,” he barked. Ciel massaged his brutalised wrist, his lip sticking out like a child's. The priest picked his book up against and tried to ignore that he was half hard. The boy leaned back on his hand again and read over Sebastian's shoulder.

A moment passed and the priest finished the page he'd been struggling with. He could feel Ciel's breath tickling the side of his head but it comforted him. Eventually Ciel went limp, his head rolling into the crook of Sebastian's shoulder. His hand fell onto the priest's belly and Ciel made a little sound, fingers curling into his shirt.

“Ciel?” He whispered. The younger twitched his nose, his fingers grazed over the scar on the priest's ribs. Sebastian placed his book face-down on his chest and reached out to tuck Ciel's hair back behind his ear. Then he tugged at his eyepatch, eased it off his face to reveal a matching set of closed eyes. The boy pressed his face into Sebastian's pectoral. His head rose and fell with the priest's breath.

“Bastian,” he muttered back. He opened his eyes a little, eyelashes heavy. His fingers forgot the scar and instead went wandering for something else. Sebastian reached out his fingers, skimmed the back of Ciel's knuckles. Then they were holding hands. When he looked back down at the boy, his eyes were shut again.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Friday._

 

Sebastian no longer enjoyed his job.

If he was honest, he never did. The church inspired nothing within him anymore and he woke with dread each dawn. This morning he’d woken to Ciel beside him, head tucked between his shoulder and neck. His mouth had been full with sleep, eyelashes lovely on his skin. He didn't want to wake him, but the sun was rising and he had work to do. He'd rolled his head back but Ciel groaned, swearing as he was roused from his sleep.

“What the fuck,” he blinked in the bright, yellow sun. The priest had slapped him playfully across the mouth, enough to make Ciel squeak. He sat up, eyes wide and pretty lips open in shock. He smirked at Ciel and got hot all over when the boy grinned lazily back at him. He wanted to shove his fingers into his surprised, red mouth. Sebastian thought about that mouth all morning. He swept the cobblestone floor and pressed his tongue into his cheek. He wanted to go back to his cottage and see what Ciel's mouth tasted like.

Father Faustus arrived as Sebastian was finishing up. They were due to start within moments. Sebastian could hear early church-goers murmured voices through the closed wooden doors. The youngest priest pushed the broom up the aisle, towards Claude. The two priests had barely spoken. Not since their noses were both bloodied by the same boy.

Claude looked particularly sour this morning. Sebastian reached the end of the aisle, raised his head to meet Claude's narrowed, dark eyes. His jaw was so tense it was visible. Sebastian raised an eyebrow at his superior. Claude cleared his throat.

“How's your whore?” It echoed in the empty church. Sebastian blinked.

“What?”

“Ciel _Phantomhive_ ,” his lips moved around his name like it was poison. Sebastian frowned.

“I don't know what you mean,” he said with no emotion. Claude laughed, bitter and quiet.

“I saw him this morning, leaving the cottage.” Sebastian's stomach fell out his body and landed on the floor with the clattering broom. 

“Didn't you see what he did to me?” Claude shook his head, mouth open, incredulous. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“ _No!_ ” Sebastian bit.

“What was he doing in your home?” Claude bared his teeth, voice thick like he was disgusted. Sebastian wanted to laugh, wanted to beat the look off his ugly face. 

“He told me what you did to him,” Sebastian whispered. He could hear more people on the other side of the door. Claude curled his lip up cruelly.

“I could do worse,” he threatened between his teeth. Sebastian saw red, stepped in so close his nose almost pressed into Claude's cheek.

“If you touch him, I'll end you,” Sebastian whispered into his ear. He pushed past Claude, their shoulders connected. It wasn't a threat, it was a promise.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Sebastian got to the barn, Ciel was already on his way out.

He found him before the mirror. Twin reflections - devastatingly handsome in hand-picked, donated clothes. Waistcoat, black tie around his throat. His hair was so long now it fell across his shoulders, curled where it was tucked behind his ear. Sebastian was so moved he couldn't speak. He felt jealousy, he felt fear, and he felt something more tender and pure too.

“Are you leaving?” He already knew the answer. Ciel's reflection darted over to where he stood in the doorway. The boy nodded. Fingers tightened on his tie, black contrasting over strawberry and cream knuckles. The priest sat down on the old sofa. As he watched Ciel preen himself, he worked on an excuse that would keep Ciel home and safe in the barn forever.

“It's going to rain,” was his genius idea. Ciel looked at the massive window, raindrops already spitting against the glass.

“Really?” He drawled. He raised an eyebrow and sighed. 

“I ‘ave to go tonight. I ‘ave to pay rent,” he said, reading Sebastian's mind. The priest deflated into the sofa, feeling old and average before Ciel’s exquisite appearance 

“I'll pay your rent,” he said. Ciel screwed up his nose and the priest felt even worse. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“Don't. You're the only person who doesn't _pay_ for my company.” The boy ran his fingers over the silver buttons of his waistcoat, shoulders falling.

“Don't go out. It makes me worried a-and,” he hesitated. _Jealous_. It made him jealous.

“And what?” Ciel asked. He stopped playing with his clothes and stared at Sebastian in the mirror.

“Lonely,” Sebastian stated pathetically. He knew it was the wrong answer even before Ciel rolled his eye. The teenager snatched his coat up and slid it over his shoulders.

“So why not call on Emma?” He said, flashing Sebastian a quick, dry smile. Sebastian stood up and caught Ciel as he waltzed out the door. He didn't realised how hard he was holding his arms until Ciel's muscles jumped under his hands.

“I don't want you to get hurt,” he swallowed. It was his last resort. Ciel wet his lips, opened his mouth and sighed. The priest could see his bottom teeth, his tongue. He could push Ciel between the wall and his body, keep him pinned in place like a butterfly. He could force him to stay, the same way he could force his head back by opening his mouth and tasting the back of his teeth. 

Ciel moved instead. He leaned in on his toes, until his shirt brushed over the front of his own. He felt his warmth, felt him breath over his chin as he spoke onto his mouth. “It costs extra to ‘urt me.”

Then he was gone, and the barn felt as useless as Sebastian.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His frame felt soul-crushingly heavy. He left his cigarette, half-finished and forgotten in the snow. It's last embers died with a hiss, and so did any hope Ciel had held on to. He had a bad feeling.

Ciel couldn't breathe over the lump in his throat. Stinging rain hit his face as he crossed the bridge dividing communities. The strip of bars thrummed above the storm. The rain fell quicker so Ciel dashed past the buildings until he found the tavern that lay crushed between the rest. He eased his way inside, not noticing the bad feeling had followed him.

He threw back his first drink like it was nothing. He couldn't escape the nervous, fragile feeling that consumed him since that morning. Since he'd seen Father Faustus _staring_ at him when he climbed out Sebastian's window. He felt so bad that he actually jumped when two familiar hands squeezed his hips from behind.

“Hey princess,” Bard smiled into his hair. Ciel relaxed, fell back into the muscled, blonde's chest and let him order a drink. Bard combed his hair off his neck and kissed it. He laughed, stubble rubbing his throat.

“You're tense tonight,” he murmured. He dropped his jaw and bit into Ciel's neck like he was fruit. Ciel gasped, raised up on his toes and pressed his ass against the wall of muscle behind him. Bard rolled his tongue over his bitten neck, turned Ciel's legs to jelly when he laughed again, cruelly. Ciel twisted around to face him, put his hands on his broad chest to ground himself. Bard rubbed his hips, tugged him forward so they were pressed up against each other.

“You okay?” He stopped smiling. He cupped the side of Ciel's face as the teenager looked over his shoulder and at something across the room. There was his bad feeling, arms crossed and leaning against the opposite wall.

“Bard,” he panicked. Bard tugged him closer, put his chin on the top of his head. He looked at the undertaker but of course he didn't see him, didn't know he was a threat.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” Bard frowned. He petted Ciel's hair in a way that made Ciel flinch. He pulled free of Bard's arms and backed away. The blonde called after him but his voice was lost to the music. 

The undertaker followed him to the back of the bar. Ciel slipped through the people, heart racing as thunder cracked so loud it made the others shriek in excitement. The rain on the roof started to drown out the band. He went as far as he could but he eventually ran out of bar. The undertaker pressed him into the wall and covered his entire body with his own.

“Where have you been?” His guardian is drunk. Ciel could smell it, and feel it in the sloppy way he touched his hair.

“Working.”

“ _Liar_ ,” the undertaker hissed. His lips curled up again, hiding his damp breath behind his teeth. “Where have you been?” He pressed his body closer to Ciel's and the boy put his hands up on his chest. He swallowed so loud it was audible over the sound of everything else.

“Have you been with your boyfriend?” His hand stroked Ciel's hair behind the shell of his ear. “ _The priest_.” Ciel's heart sunk.

“He's not my boyfriend,” Ciel said. His voice was tired, soft. His guardian cocked his head. Blonde hair fell over the folds of his coat, clung to the material like frayed rope.

“Really? He's not?” He asked in a sing-song voice. He brushed Ciel's fringe away from his eyes and the boy felt his cold hand cup the back of his head. The undertaker's fingers brushed over the spot that was bloodied six days earlier.

“Keeps showing up at your place – like a dog. You know I hate dogs.”

“He's my friend,” Ciel swallowed. His heart swelled with pride and he lifted his chin to the undertaker. His guardian laughed, breath tickling Ciel's fringe.

“You don't have friends. You're a whore.”

“I'm n-not.”

“Not what?” The undertaker asked, narrowing his eyes. Ciel licked his dry lips.

“I'm not a whore.”

“ _Not a whore?_ ” Ciel nodded, his chest felt like a beehive. Then his guardian grabbed him by the throat and began to strangle him against the wall. Ciel's hands shot up and he kicked, the blonde lifted him to his toes. Ciel opened his mouth but he couldn't scream. With a panicked surge of strength he kneed the blonde so hard between his legs that he dropped him. He scrambled backwards, dashed towards the front of the bar. The undertaker grabbed a chunk of his hair and threw him face down to the floor.

Ciel hit the ground with a thud. Someone whooped. Boots shuffled backwards as he rolled onto his back. Voices shouted over the music. A frenzy of patrons circled around Ciel as he watched his guardian yank a fire poker out of the stand by the fireplace. He hit it against his open palm as he stood over the teenager. _Thud, thud, thud_. Ciel scrambled backwards, into the forest of legs. His guardian swung. The iron smacked across his shins and Ciel screamed. The crowd yelled in excitement.

“You are _dead!_ ” The undertaker yelled. He raised the cane above his head. Ciel rolled. The poker stuck into the floor beside him. The wood splintered as it was yanked free. The boy crawled deeper into the crowd but it parted. The poker came down over his back, his legs again. And again, and again. Ciel tasted bile on his teeth. He heard his own scream pitch above the violent band. Ciel thought he heard somebody yell _stop_. The poker came down over his head and Ciel grabbed for it. The iron struck his cheek and the boy felt something wet drip into his ear. He clung onto the iron like his life depended on it. 

Then the blonde was on him. His hair whipped back as he smacked Ciel. The sound startled the boy. He thrashed. He stuck his knee into the undertaker's ribs. The undertaker smashed his head into the floor. Ringing filled his ears, drowned out the band and he didn't feel the next punch, or the one after that.

“Kill you, kill your boyfriend,” Ciel heard through the ringing. He yanked at the other's hair, thrashed his legs underneath him. “Know where he lives, shoot him while he's fucking sleeping.” He whispered in Ciel's ear, the boy turned his head and bit him on the neck as hard as he could. More wet, more heat. The blonde's blood soaked into his shirt, filled his mouth. He heard his guardian howl, he bought his leg up and slipped his knife free from his boot. The blonde caught his wrist, bent his hand back until the blade fell. He flicked it open and held it up against his throat. The crowd went quiet when someone again yelled _stop_. 

Ciel finally breathed. He felt his throat bob under his own blade. It stung. Sweat dripped into his eye. He kept his hands pinned beside his head, didn't move a muscle. The undertaker was bleeding, one hand cupped to his neck and the other on the knife. He took his time to catch his breath. The crowd was murmuring. 

“Please don't,” Ciel whispered. Even the band had died. He could feel the blade throb against his pulse. The undertaker's breath steadied, he flicked his eyes over the prey beneath him. The hand with the knife tensed, and lifted.

“Please Adrian,” Ciel cried, flinching when the blade kissed his cheek. He felt the cut, heard another when his eyepatch fell loose.

“I gave you everything,” the undertaker said. His eyes were black. His pale hair was pink with blood. The knife hit the floor by Ciel's ear and the man's hand was on his face. His thumb smoothed over the slick sweat on the boy's cheek. Then it was under his injured eye, pressing so hard that Ciel squealed. Another hand pinned his shoulders down. The first thumb dipped into his eye socket and with a little sound his false eye was on the ground beside his head. 

“Please, no,” Ciel breathed. He couldn't stop blinking, it hurt. He curled onto his side, covered the hole in his head. The blonde above him smiled sadly, wiped his face with the back of his sleeve. Then he took his eye and he left. Ciel didn't move. Couldn’t. He just stared at the blade by his head. Someone crouched down beside him. When tattooed knuckled brushed his hair back, Ciel sobbed in relief.

“None of that, come on princess.” Big arms helped him off the ground. Ciel's legs shook so much that he leaned into Bard, dug his nails into the other's bicep. He felt the muscle flinch but the blonde kept rubbing circles into his back, whispering sweet nothings into his hair.

....................................

 

It was hard to balance Ciel _and_ a cigarette at the same time, but Bard figured it out.

He inhaled smoke like air, sucked it down to cover his erratic breathing. He couldn't ash, not with his other arm looped around Ciel's waist. It felt even skinnier when the boy was plastered to his side, breath laboured. The blonde offered the boy a draw and he felt his wet mouth bump his fingers as he accepted. Then he coughed, and swore in another language.

“Keep your head up princess.” He stuck his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, slick with red spit. He cupped Ciel's chin and tipped back his drooping face. Ciel coughed again, and again. Little droplets of blood landed on his chin. His nose was still bleeding, running a river of blood right into his mouth. The tiny prostitute spat it out, didn't flinch when the gore ran down his neck and into the collar of his shirt.

“Think I'm gonna pass out,” he whispered. His voice snagged on spit. It was the only sound in the snow, after the blonde's heavy breathes. Ciel stared at something over Bard's shoulder, his empty eye shifted uselessly. 

“Almost there baby,” he hushed, cupped Ciel closer to his side. The boy nodded, clung to the back of his shirt and together they walked into the night at a snail's pace. There was blood smeared across the sails of the ship on his right arm. Bard tried to stare at the blood and not the socket where Ciel's eye should be. It was half-closed and useless. When he blinked it looked more like a flinch. There were little tears collecting on the bridge of his nose.

“Stop staring,” Ciel muttered. The boy rubbed at the socket, took a few more wobbling steps in the snow. “I know it's ugly.” Bard opened his mouth but he didn't know what to say.

He was relieved when Ciel finally lead him to a building. Unremarkable, wooden. He waited across the street as Ciel limped to the door, fumbling with a key. His hand shook so much it didn't work, so he resorted to thumping on the door. The lantern light from upstairs moved, and the door opened. Bard watched as a tall, handsome man took Ciel into his arms and he felt a jealous coil in his stomach. He dumped his cigarette into the snow and went home to his wife.

………………………………………..

 

“It's looks worse than it is.” Sebastian doesn't respond. The image of Ciel's legs beaten so bad he can't even undress himself is too fresh. It rendered him speechless.

“Say something,” Ciel whispered. Sebastian had his back to him, listening to the bath water drip out onto the floor. His hands wouldn't stop shaking so he gripped the back of the sofa, knuckles white. He wanted to open his mouth but he might he sick. Ciel's bloody shirt was still crumpled up in his hand.

“ _Bastian_ ,” Ciel tried again. He sounded horrible, desperate. Skin squeaked on the porcelain bath and more water sloshed to the edges. Ciel's pained, laboured breathing raised the hairs on the back of Sebastian's neck. He turned around and Ciel was clinging to the sides of the bath, head barely above the water. His fingers slipped, he coughed when his mouth dipped under the surface. 

“I don't know what to say,” he muttered. Ciel sat up, hair clinging to his throat like a jellyfish. Pale, pink water dripped off the end of his busted nose. His cheek was red and bloody, his lip swollen. Worst of all, his eyelid flinched painfully over the dark, empty socket of his right eye. Tears welled up in the corner of both eyes and rolled down his nose.

“I was wrong,” he said so quietly it broke Sebastian's heart. He dropped the bloody shirt, came over to the bath and dropped down on his knees beside it. He smoothed the hot tears off Ciel's lovely face but they wouldn't stop falling. 

“I'm so angry,” Sebastian grit. His touch was borderline too rough for a boy as sweet as Ciel. Despite this, Ciel didn't move away from his touch.

“At me?” He whispered. He looked so pathetic.

“Not at you,” he replied. Ciel's face twisted up and he cried. He looked horrible, eye like a black hole on his face. Sebastian pushed his hair back, twisted it behind his ears. With one hand left in his hair, he grabbed a bar of soap with his other and started to wash Ciel's dark hair. His tears stopped as he massaged the back of his head. Ciel hiccupped and his head lolled into his hands. When he tipped his head back into the bath the water went foamy like the sea.

Ciel cried out in pain when he lifted him from the bath. He wrapped him in a towel, dabbed the water from his hair. The boy’s breath caught in his throat, eye hazy from the pain. Some of his wounds wept, continued to bleed into the fresh linen. He cleaned what he could, using spirits to dab at the nasty cuts. Ciel drank what was left and eventually his pained noises quelled.

“He’s going to kill me,” he admitted after a while. Sebastian sat beside him on the bed, staring down at his shoes. Ciel’s naked legs were beside his, beaten across every inch of skin.

“I’ll kill him first,” Sebastian said. Ciel inhaled sharply. The priest turned to look down at him, tears still moving sluggish across his cheeks. “Give me the order and I’ll kill for you, Ciel.” The boy stared at him like he had two heads. He opened his mouth to reply, but he had no words left. The priest tucked his damp hair away from his face and stopped himself from leaning down and kissing him. 

Ciel’s empty eye fluttered. They stared at each other until Ciel’s eye drooped. His heavy eyelashes kissed his skin and his breathing evened out into delicate, pretty gasps.

“Ciel?” He asked. Ciel’s lips parted, slack. He was fast asleep, safe beside Sebastian. The priest swallowed, laid down on his side to be closer to his body. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d kill for him. His heart still ached at the thought of losing Ciel. He leaned in and pressed a kiss into the crown of Ciel’s hair. The boy didn’t move.

“I love you,” he whispered into his hair. His kissed it again, lips lingering.

“I love you,” he says again.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Each night before you go to bed, my baby… Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby…_

_And tell all the stars above, this is dedicated to the one I love._

 

 


	12. Douze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise there's a kiss in the next chapter.

Ciel woke to rain.

Thunder rumbled like the snoring of the man beside him. Sebastian's heartbeat thrummed against the shell of Ciel's ear. The teenager pushed his face closer to Sebastian's shoulder. The boy's hair spilt on the mass of Sebastian's bicep, the priest's fingers tickled low on his spine, against his naked skin.

Their hearts shared a single pulse. Ciel could feel where his cheek was pressed to the priest's shirt. As he unfurled into the land of the living, Ciel felt blood crack and peel off his tender skin. He could taste thick, coagulated blood on his teeth. Last night's events flowed out of his heart and into pathetic, violent whimpering. Sebastian’s muscles twitched and tightened around him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyes closed. His voice was thick with sleep. Sebastian’s palm soothed itself up the centre of his back, pinning him tighter to his chest. It made Ciel sob harder, comforted in a way so foreign to him. Sebastian's fingers moved to his hair, stroking in perfunctory circles.

“Settle, sweetheart.” Ciel glanced up, the priest's eyes were still shut. _Sweetheart_ , Ciel repeated to himself. He wiped his knuckles over the hot tears across his cheeks. His fingers brushed his eye socket, and he made a frightened sound.

“Mon oeil,” he panted, palm pressed to the hole. He could smell Sebastian's breath as he curled around him, sweet with sleep.

“Does it hurt?” Sebastian asked, his hand foregoing Ciel's hair to stroke his quivering jaw. Ciel blinked, eyelashes meeting over the useless socket. He nodded, tears pooling in his clenched eyelids.

“I'll kill him,” Sebastian muttered, looking between both his eyes. Ciel's breath escaped him, heart speeding up so quick he couldn't speak, his head shaking. _No, no no no_. The priest frowned deeper. His lips pressed into a tight, confused line. “I have to do _something_ ,” he uttered, shaking his head too – like Ciel had gone insane.

“Please don't do anything,” Ciel begged as he found his voice. He squeezed Sebastian's arms, tried to reinforce the point as his fingers dug into the other's biceps. “Adrian will _murder_ both of us. _Please_ -” his voice cracked, fresh tears stung his face. “Don't do anything, _please_. Do it for me, Bastian, _please_.”

“I'd do anything for you,” Sebastian said, eyes black. Ciel went still, his tears seemed to freeze on his face. The cleric’s face was so tortured, he appeared hurt. His forehead came to press against Ciel's, his hands cupped the side of his head.

“Anything?” He whispered. He felt the priest's head rock against his in a nod.

“ _Anything_. If you asked sweetly enough.” It made Ciel laugh, his mouth splitting into a smile, a sob escaping his teeth. He rubbed Sebastian's biceps and the man tensed them, steel under his hands. They swelled to a size that the kid could no longer grip.

“Don't go after the undertaker,” Ciel repeated. Sebastian nodded. He kept rubbing circles into his hard arms, feeling the knots unravel from his body as if he were massaging his own skin. His eyelids weighed with sleep. Sebastian settled on his side, arm slung across Ciel's waist. The boy nestled his head into his bicep, his nose flirted with his collarbone. With innocent intent Ciel's fingers found the folds of the priest's shirt and crept under the hem, searching out the scar across his ribs. 

“Tell me ‘ow you got it,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

“It's not that interesting,” he confessed. Ciel cuddled closer to his warmth. He was so big, a furnace. Ciel was a moth. 

“I like ‘earing you talk,” Ciel admitted. The scar felt bigger under the tiny surface of his thumb. Sebastian laughed, his chest rumbled in amusement.

“I was riding my horse, on our ranch,” he began. He hardly spoke louder than a whisper. “I wasn't supposed to be, I was meant to be working on my chores but I was out on my horse instead.” And by the time he got to the part about the snake that spooked his stallion, Ciel was asleep – dreaming of endless, American skies.

……………………………………………………………………………

He shouldn't be out.

His legs wear the kiss of a fire poker. He's so drunk he doesn't remember his own name. His fingers cling to the wall behind him, like it might save him from slipping further into this state. His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, the wound on his cheek healing crooked. He even laughs when the sloppy man next to him kisses his neck. The man's hands aren't gentle. His breath stinks. He couldn't go home until he'd made _enough_. 

Ciel licked his teeth as the guy above him said something unfunny, but the teenager laughed despite it. He disguised his grimace in another gorgeous laugh and squeezed the stranger's arms. All it took was another drink, and Ciel was in the alley outside, back rubbed raw and scraped on the slick wall as he fucked him. Afterwards, as he washed another drink down his throat, he rubbed above the crude bite on his shoulder. It was damp with the stranger's stale saliva.

“Ciel?” _Uh-oh_. Bard never called him by his name. He knew he was in trouble when the tattooed blonde stepped up to him, his fingers tilting Ciel’s jaw.

“ _Jesus_ , you don't look so pretty, pigeon.” His eyes flicked from his cheek, to his nose, to his lip. “What the hell are you doing out?”

“Just waiting around for you to rough me up,” Ciel growled. His eye lidded when Bard's fist shifted from his chin to his bruised neck.

“Cute,” the blonde conceded, his eyes lingering on the stubble rash and bites across Ciel's cheek and shoulder. He chewed at his bottom lip, a toothpick wriggling out the corner of his mouth. 

“Come with me,” Bard grunted and grabbed the collar of his shirt. He pushed the two of them out the back door, then pinned Ciel to the same wall he'd been fucked on five minutes earlier.

“What the hell happened last weekend?” Bard's hands stayed clenched in the rumpled front of Ciel's shirt.

“I got my ass kicked,” he laughed, as if the weekend were a fond memory. Bard let him go him, and Ciel slid into a crouch. The blonde towered over him, ran his fingers through his hair and then lit a cigarette. The match sizzled it's last sigh when it hit the snow. Bard took a long, thoughtful breath before expelling it all across the speckled sky. Then his hand stooped and he offered the smoke to Ciel. 

“Who was that man?” He asked, just as Ciel leaned in and took the cigarette between his lips. The little Parisian flicked his eye up to the other, swallowed as he took a steady breath.

“Who? The blonde?” Bard grunted.

“No dove, the tall one. That you _begged_ me to take you to. Is he your dad?”

“No.”

“Is he your fucking boyfriend?” Bard's voice dropped lower. Ciel hesitated before shaking his head. He stared at Bard's knees, level with his face. His cheeks burned. 

“You should go home to your wife,” Ciel uttered. Bard snapped his smoke between his fingers and glanced up at the sky.

“You're being nasty tonight,” he grit.

“You're asking too many questions,” Ciel curled his lip at him. The blonde was watching him, calculating and raw. “Now fuck me, or leave me alone.”

Bard laughed again. He shuffled his boots in the snow slush beneath Ciel's knees. He squared his shoulders, rolled his head side to side in a way that made his muscles ripple even under the crude fabric of his shirt. Ciel swallowed as he stared him down, then unfastened his trousers will a well-practiced flick of his thumb. Ciel moved to get off his knees, but Bard knocked him down with the heel of his palm.

“I want you right there tonight,” he muttered. He stepped forward, tucked Ciel's hair behind his ear. He cupped the curve of Ciel's skull like an object. His other hand tilted the teenager's head so he could drag his calloused thumb across the swell of Ciel's fat lip.

“Such a rude little bird,” Bard grunted. Then he unzipped his trousers.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian's third cup of tea simmered as he picked at the side of the chipped table.

He flicked his eyes up to Ciel, who paused half-way through removing his shirt. His eye was black, eyelashes heavy and seductive when he dropped the shirt to the floor by his slush-damp boots.

“ _What?_ ” Ciel echoed into the big room. He could tell he was drunk. The blush on his face crept to his mottled neck and atop the milk-pale top of his chest. His hair shifted over the line of his collarbone as he took steady, silent breaths.

“Where were you?” He couldn't speak louder than a whisper, but Ciel heard.

“I was working,” he admitted. His fingers wrapped around the bruises on his wrists. The kid was a graveyard of physical miseries. The pastor raked his eyes up the length of his body. He started at his snow-wet knees, then lingered on his raw, bitten neck. Sebastian was breathing so hard he could hear it himself.

“Say something,” Ciel muttered.

“What do you want me to say?” A piece of table crumbled in Sebastian’s fingers. He dropped it on the floor. He didn't take his eyes off Ciel.

“I don't know. Yell at me, slap me.” Sebastian's fingers twitched. 

“You want me to hit you?” His heart clenched in his chest.

“I'll let you do it for _free_ ,” Ciel's lips flirted with mirth. Sebastian watched him flit between anger and mania. “Beat the ‘ell out of me, and anything else you want.” Sebastian stood up and pushed his chair back with a violent squeal.

“What's wrong with you?” Sebastian's voice was too loud for the quiet room. Ciel laughed, light and pretty.

“Where do I _start_?” His lips quirked up in a cruel smile, baby teeth peeking behind his cut lip. Sebastian stepped in close to him and felt a sick satisfaction when Ciel backed up and his legs hit the sofa.

“He'll _kill_ me if I don't work,” Ciel matched his angry pitch. His hands bumped into Sebastian's chest, gripped at his waistcoat. He curled his fingers into the dark cloth so he wouldn't fall backwards onto the sofa. 

“I need...” he trailed off. His head came forward and rested on Sebastian's shoulder. His palms let go of his waistcoat and slid to his belt. Two skinny fingers looped into the trouser loops. Sebastian's stomach somersaulted. 

“I need to do t-this,” he mouthed. His breath was warm and sticky in the crook of the older's neck. The priest ducked his head so he could smell the boy's hair. Soap, smoke, and the spike of sweat that belonged to neither Sebastian or Ciel.

“Who were you with?” He asked. He instantly regretted opening his mouth. Ciel's fingers slid free from his belt and his small, spread palms slipped to sit on the top of his thighs. One of his thumbs spread out to dip between his legs. Sebastian's heart caught in his throat, something sick and hot coiled tight beneath his bellybutton.

“Why does it matter to you?” Ciel murmured. He glimpsed up, his eye darted between Sebastian's. Sebastian willed his big mouth to keep quiet.

“How many men had you tonight?” Ciel's jaw tensed.

“Two,” he spat. His thumb dug into the tense, corded muscle of Sebastian's thigh until it was painful. “And then I sucked Bard's cock.”

“ _Really_?” Sebastian grunted under his breath. He grabbed each of Ciel's wrists and plucked them off his hips. He squeezed too rough, the boy's fingers dug into his palms in defence. “Who's Bard?”

“That tattooed man,” Ciel smirked. “You know, _blonde, gentle_ ,” his lips moved in contempt over his teeth, in perfect mockery. Sebastian pushed him and he stumbled, landing on his ass on the sofa.

“I hate when you act like this,” Sebastian stared at him.

“Act like what?” Ciel whispered. He tongued the cut on his lip, perfect little tongue guarded behind perfect, little teeth.

“Like a slut.” Ciel's hand whipped across his cheek before he could stop him, the slap stinging the room. Sebastian grunted, ran his tongue across his bottom lip as he cocked his head to the side, weighing out the pain. Ciel's wrist hovered in the air, fingers tense like he might strike again, so the priest caught him. 

“That hurt,” he said, and took both Ciel's wrists so he could push him onto the sofa. He pinned him on his back, arms pushed above his head. Sebastian found a perfect place for himself, laying between Ciel's legs, the boys thighs pinned either side of Sebastian's rib cage.

“You always open your big, stupid mouth,” Ciel groaned. Sebastian knew he weighed so much more than the kid, but he didn't get up. He pushed both their arms above their heads. 

“Yeah?” He said mindlessly, too occupied with the way he could feel Ciel's ribs expanding under his own chest.

“Yeah. That mouth always gets you in trouble,” Ciel spit. His hair had fallen off his face, his teeth bared.

“My mouth?” Sebastian pushed his thumbs into the centre of Ciel's palms. The kid dug his nails in instantly and it felt good. He couldn't hurt him, not really. He was too tiny.

“Mm, yeah. Always saying stupid shit,” Ciel mumbled. He stared at Sebastian's lips. He looked so pissed off, his heavy breathing just making his cheeks redder, his lips wetter. 

“Oh? I'm stupid _huh_. What did you call me, an idiot virgin?” Ciel nodded, his little nose screwed up. Sebastian laughed, mean and against his cheek.

“I don't think I'm missing out on anything, Ciel. You have sex everyday, and you're _still_ the most miserable person I know.” Ciel went stiff.

“Fuck you,” he breathed, bottom lip trembling. Sebastian sighed, watching Ciel fidget.

“You are the bane of my existence,” Sebastian admitted, with a fondness the antithesis of the words he'd spoken. Ciel made a sound – a _tch_ , bucking his chin away from the priest. The pastor sat up, released Ciel's hands but the boy kept them above his head.

“I don't know what that means,” Ciel admitted. He wasn't looking at him. Sebastian sat on his legs, leaned one arm on the back of the sofa.

“It means you're driving me insane. I don't know how much more of this I can take.” It got his attention – made him tilt his head to glare at him.

“So give up on me,” Ciel goaded, mimicked the words he'd said weeks earlier. They were always playing this game – pushing to see who'd break first. Sebastian let his shoulders slump, fancied the smallness of Ciel's body, tucked between his legs.

“Not yet,” he said. Ciel glanced at him for a time, mouth tense like he was trying to keep words behind his teeth. He was reading Sebastian's face, and the priest could only hope the boy was seeing how serious he was. This was it. Anymore would break his heart.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had sex down to a currency.

It took six men each week to live. Four men for rent. Two for food. If he got on his knees three or four times he could have cigarettes and alcohol. If there were more, he slept in on Sunday mornings and read. If there were less, _well_. Ciel brushed his fingers across his cheek, the little pink scar puckered along the line of his cheekbone. 

As he weaved through the traffic of early evening Parisians, he could feel the walls begin to close in on him. It was a feeling that had daunted him for days. In the sea of people he was always watching, eyes skirting debris of black hats and parasols, always on the look out for hair the colour of stale snow. He walked quicker. His shoulder collided with an old man's but he didn't apologise. He bolted. He slipped deeper into the afternoon rush and escaped into a side-street.

 _Money_. It was all that he could think of. How to get more. How much would appease Adrian. How much would free him. How many more times would he need to numb his body into tolerating the touch of _anyone_. How many times until Sebastian finally gave up on him and threw him to the streets. Ciel stopped walking. If he took a step towards money, he took a step away from Sebastian. If he stepped towards Sebastian, he bought himself under the guillotine. As he lit a cigarette, he came to realise he was in a street he'd been before. Sure enough, when he wandered forward a few yard, he came across that familiar, tacky sign.

_“We buy teeth – painless extractions – require within.”_

His cigarette smouldered between his lips as he read the words twice. _Money_. _Painless_. Money that wouldn't hurt Sebastian. He took another draw from his smoke, then ashed it in the wet snow. He laved his tongue on the cut on his lip. His heart started to pound but he couldn't will himself to move. He cracked his smoke onto the cobblestone and approached the tacky building. 

Inside was simple. A cracked leather couch was pressed to one wall, a counter against the other. A little bell chimed above Ciel's head as the door opened. A man, leaning over the counter writing, paused his hand as Ciel stepped inside.

“Can I help you?” He asked, shooting a bored glance towards Ciel, green eyes skirting atop the usual pattern. His hair. His clothes. His eyepatch.

“How much for my teeth?” He asked dumbly. He licked the back of them as the other man rounded the corner, sighing like he'd been put out. Adjusting his gloves, the taller man tilted Ciel's head into the light and looked down his nose and into his mouth. He wore glasses, strung around his neck with beads. They clacked as he turned Ciel's head side to side.

“Three franc for the front,” he decided, his gloved thumb tapping at Ciel's two front teeth. It was a big amount. It was a _two week's worth of men_ amount.

“And the back?” The other narrowed his eyes, withdrew his palm from Ciel's cheek.

“One franc,” he replied. The boy nodded. He played with one of his molar teeth, breath audible through his nose.

“And it's painless?” He kept playing with the tooth. The other man nodded, already turning to the narrow staircase. 

“Extremely,” he promised, and then yelled up the stairs. “ _Angelina!_ Extraction, molar!” Ciel followed him up the stairs, into the dullness of the second-story. It smelt distinctly of flowers. Angelina met them at the top, her smile as well-manicured as her auburn hair and stiletto nails. She grinned at Ciel like he were a child.

“Please, lay down.” She gestured at a long, reclined chair. Ciel obeyed, the old leather groaning and peeling away under his touch as he placed his head into the chair's cradle. Unbuckled straps dangled where his wrists and ankles lay. Angelina smiled again, and squeezed his arm just above the elbow.

“Are you nervous?” She cooed. Ciel nodded as she strapped his ankles to the chair. She couldn't remove the sweet grin off her lips.

“Why are you tying me down?” He asked as she tightened them on his wrists too.

“So you don't hurt me,” she nodded. Ciel stared up at the ceiling and tried to breath. He felt her unbutton his shirt sleeve and fold the fabric up his trembling arm. He heard the _tink_ of her nails testing the side of a needle. He smelt flowers again, condensed, sickening.

“I won't hurt you,” she said. Ciel made a sound when the needle jabbed the crook of his arm. The sort of sound Adrian compared to a pig. His cheeks burnt like the liquid that spread out under his petal-thin skin. 

“You're going to feel really good,” and as she said that Ciel started to feel warm. His fists unclenched and he nuzzled his head into the chair. She brushed some hair off his head, eyes fond. “See? Didn't I promise? Don't you feel nice?” 

“Yeah,” Ciel nodded, his tongue lazy. He felt good. He felt the room slip in and out of focus. He watched Angelina press little wads of cotton into her ears.

“Why are you doing that?” He could feel himself smiling, could feel his toes curl at the overwhelming wave of euphoria that rocked him from the dock of his restraints. She didn't answer, she only smiled. Then she put a warm, flower-scented hand on his chin, coaxed his mouth open with the heel of her thumb. Something cold and unforgiving slid past his lips but Ciel was too preoccupied with the dancing candlelight on the ceiling. Something clamped on his lower molar, and then he understood the cotton in the dentist's ears.

He screamed, and screamed, and _screamed_.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian's father broke wild horses. 

Their family had always broken horses. It said so, in black paint on the dusty, splintered sign at their property gates. Sebastian's father had been at it so long that his bones ached with motion. His sightly face was all torn up – nose bent from being broken on the back of a bucking bronco. Folks from town picked apart his rugged appearance, but Sebastian admired him. Just like his mother – who was buried under a big ponderosa pine – Sebastian was bewitched by the silent, commanding strength of his dad.

He watched his father break horses. He would watch his father take in bucking, feral horses and wear them into obedient beasts. He watched as his father used his hands to award gentle strokes to horses necks – an adoration the kid had never experienced himself. When the sun burst above the horizon his fingers started twitching and he'd leap off the horse yard and go careening into the long grass towards the river.

The kid had an agitation inside him, a desire to move. His father said his mother was like that too, never happy just to sit and be. She needed to go – to whip off into the untamed beauty of their sprawling ranch – and Sebastian was like that too. He threw his boots up onto the porch and went out into the wild. In the summer, when the air sung with beetles and the wildflowers stuck to his tanned ankles, he spent every hour outdoors. He wandered until his nose was burnt and there was mud between his toes. He wandered until his father retired from the horse yards, and threatened to belt him if he didn't get his ass inside.

Sebastian thumbed the cover of the tattered book. The painted cover, a purple sky across snow-capped slopes, imprinted with faded, gold lettering. The pages dog-eared to mark Ciel's place. Sebastian felt a sad tug in his soul as he stacked the book by the bedside. He made the rumpled linen, and as the sheets shifted, a smell danced up off the bed and soothed the priest's home-sick heart. He leaned over and put his nose into the pillow, right where Ciel's head lay. He breathed in and goose-bumps prickled on his neck. He shut his eyes and he was home again.

Something had been lost, between his childhood years and now. Sebastian felt as beaten and weathered as his father had looked – but with no real adventure to blame for it. He couldn't remember when it had stopped. When his days, spent wild running and exploring until his skin was kissed with bug bites and cuts from coarse grass, ended. When the hours spent indoors, reading, shirt collar tight around his throat began. He sat by the window, glancing to the wild plains that begged for his attention, until his tutor whipped him across the knuckles. How had be succumbed and placed that wicked wildness so deep inside of him? The wildness his daddy hated.

Sebastian was just another of his horses.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel sighed as red, lacquered nails brushed his hair.

Angelina was speaking, and though he stared at her painted mouth as it moved, he retained nothing. The nails in his hair were too sweet. He tilted his head and leaned into them, hairs on his arms raising and prickling with pleasant goose-bumps. The petting stopped, and Ciel realised he'd closed his eyes.

“Sorry,” he breathed. Angelina's laugh was forgiving. It danced around the room, up the back of Ciel's neck. He blinked, the room hazy like a dream. Little spots of blood collected on the front of his shirt. _Oh_. His tooth. He laved his tongue over the fleshy, sore socket. It throbbed, he knew it hurt but the pain seemed distant. _The needle_. He hoped the dentist would stick him with another before he left. 

“Don't you have someone who can pick you up?” She asked. She kept smoothing his hair, combing it in place like his mother did. He wanted to tell her that.

“No,” he answered instead. He slipped from the elongated chair and onto his feet. He floated, toes not touching the floor as he followed the dentist down the stairs and to the disinterested receptionist. The franc was cool in his fist.

“Now remember,” Angelina chided, hand on the small of his back as she opened the door for him. The bell chimed. “No eating. No drinking. _Certainly no alcohol_. I want you to go straight home, alright?”

“Straight home,” Ciel mumbled. His mouth was stuffed with gauze, rough on his tongue. Angelina nodded, gave him a little push into the outside world. Ciel was floating, feet travelling in thin air to their own accord. He turned around and saw the red dentist getting further and further away. He felt a twinge of misery then realised Angelina was where he'd left her – it was him who was leaving.

 _Straight home_ , he promised. _To where?_ He tried to swallow around the dampened cloth in his mouth. His jaw throbbed in silent agony. The needle hadn't been enough, he needed something more.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Bard was in a good mood.

He'd had a brilliant night in the kitchen- by his standards. No one returned any meals. Nothing caught on fire. The evening rush came and went, leaving him plenty of time to slip off for drinks. Then he'd won two rounds of cards. He was in a _great_ mood.

That is until he glanced over the edge of his winning deck and saw Ciel Phantomhive. The kid had his back to him, but his hair was a dead giveaway. He was with some stranger, pressed hip-to-hip. The other man had his paw on the small of Ciel's back. Bard watched, rolling the toothpick in his mouth between his teeth. It was nothing new – something he saw every weekend – but he couldn't look away. Someone smacked him, the noise of the bar returned with a roar and the chef laughed. With a smug smirk he played his winning hand, celebrating in the collective groan around the table. Bard reclined into the well-worn armchair and gathered his winnings into a neat stack. He couldn't help but glance over at Ciel. 

Something was off. The kid had his face pressed into the crook of the stranger's neck. He was being _too_ gentle. The stranger kept his arm around him, danced him around the tavern floor until they turned enough for Bard to see Ciel's face. His eye was almost closed, mouth open a little. He was asleep on his feet. His partner's hand slid lower, grabbed the curve of his ass. It made the teenager's fingers clench in the back of his shirt. Then the stranger was guiding Ciel out of the crowd, and up the stairs to the hotel rooms.

Bard swapped out his toothpick for a real cigarette. He kept glancing to the staircase. Someone dealt a new hand, Bard swiped at his cards and shuffled through them with half a mind. The house band shook the walls. The framed paintings shifted and clicked against the paint. Bard tossed back another drink and was about to play his hand when the entire tavern heard a shriek above their heads – so loud it faltered the band. Bard was on his feet in a second, darting through the crowd as everyone went back to their drinks. He took the stairs two at a time and met the stranger on his way down – arm clutched to his chest.

His shirt sleeve was soaked in blood, cut into ribbons. He growled at Bard, barrelled past him while muttering filthy curses. Bard pushed higher, followed a trail of blood drops to an ajar door in the dim hall. He nudged the door open and there was Ciel, pale thighs disappearing in the white sheets of the bed. He was curled in on himself, the blood lead to the centre of the bed, splattered on the crumpled sheets and over Ciel's half-naked skin. When the chef moved closer he saw the dagger in the boy's fist.

“Princess,” he said, too loud into the empty room. The band drifted up through the floorboards. The kid raised his head, hands and knees pressed into the sullied sheets. He seemed worse close up. His eye was hazed over, mouth wet with his own blood. There was a lot of blood, and when he sat up Bard could see it sprayed over his chest. The ends of his hair were damp with it too.

“B-Bard,” he frowned. He dropped the dagger and sat on his legs. His trousers were tangled around his ankles, his underwear torn on his hips. The far-away look in his eye haunted Bard, and he stepped in, reached his hand out. He spared a glance at the forgotten dagger- and then Ciel was pressing his cheek into his touch.

“What the fuck did you take?” Bard demanded. He leaned over the kid, put his nose in his hair and smelt him. There was too much sweat, iron, to pick up the subtly of drugs. Ciel squirmed away from him, starting to cry.

“I don't know,” he moaned. He touched his lips, his chin. He put two fingers in his mouth, crooked them and cried out, appendages coming out bloody. The chef took his knife while he was distracted. By now he could hear the yelling downstairs, sense the urgency of the situation.

“They're going to arrest you,” Bard muttered, touching the boy's hair. He tugged up his trousers and wiped the blood from his melancholy face. Hardened voices moved up the hallway and into the hotel room. Ciel heard them, curled his fingers around Bard's wrists and started babbling.

“ _Fuck_ , Bard, don't let them take me,” he begged. Bard screwed up his face and pressed a kiss to the top of Ciel's head. It spooked the kid, who started whimpering.

“My lucky charm,” Bard mumbled, pushing back Ciel's hair. The kid startled scrambling on the bedsheets, rucking up the linen. Bard jerked his head up when the police entered the room, pistols at the ready. Ciel shrunk to the sheets with a sad cry. He let them take him, teeth bared and nasty words at his lips, but they were drowned out by his miserable, confused sobs.

……………………………………………………………………………

Bard might have forgotten where the man lived, if last weekend hadn't been so traumatising. 

Finding the double-storey barn again was like retracing paths he'd walked his whole life. Even in the dark, weak rain kissing his coat, he found it not far from the tavern. He thumped against the door, his heart as loud as his knocks. He didn't know if anyone would answer, it was past midnight. He jumped when the stairs creaked, and the heavy locks clicked behind the door. When the door opened, weak lantern light showed, held by the hand of the man he recognised from last weekend. The words he'd practiced over and over died on his tongue when the other spoke first – in English. 

Bard's heart fell, and he glanced up at the dark heavens and swore under his breath. “Tu ne parles pas français?” 

The other man, who Bard realised was distractingly good-looking, frowned for a moment before shaking his head. He wasn't much older than Bard. He had dark hair, a little longer than most men, and eyes to match.

“Ciel a été arrêté,” he tried. The other man shook his head, confused. 

“Ciel?” He said Ciel's name wrong, the vowels too drawn out, rough around the edges. 

“Ciel est en _prison_ ,” he said carefully. He watched realisation dawn over the man's features. He gestured for him to wait and he dashed upstairs. Bard watched him return, fastening the last buttons of a fresh, black shirt. As his hand moved away from his neck, Bard caught a glimpse of a white, clerical collar.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Bard was normally numb to Ciel's nasty mouth, but tonight he was colourful with curses. Some he had never heard before, and some in English too. He knew they were English, as the American priest would visibly flinch at their disposal. _The priest_ , Bard considered, rolling his eyes to the white-collared man.

If Ciel had been livid on sight of Bard, then he had become submissive at the sight of his companion. _Bastian_ , as he so desperately doted on him. He started crying, those fat and soundless tears that came out of him when he'd drunk too much. They made him more charming somehow, turning his nose pink and sticking his already thick, feminine eyelashes together. The cleric was immune to the display however, mouth pressed into a displeased line. He didn't say a word to Ciel – and it destroyed the kid. He pressed himself up against the bars of his cell and touched the priest's hand.

 _Oh_. Bard's eyes widened when Ciel tried to hold Bastian's hand. The priest withdrew his fingers and Ciel sobbed. He pressed his pretty face right up between the bars and started babbling. He was so drunk. His eye was glassed over, like he was too gone for reason to reach him. Eventually his piteous whining wore down the priest – because Bard saw him reach forward, and stroke his thumb over the back of Ciel's knuckles. Bard felt sick on sight of it. The way Ciel's sobs stopped and his face lit up. How he pressed his palm closer, had it enveloped in Bastian's. How they held hands between the prison bars, the priest's thumb rubbing circles into his skin like he _loved_ the kid.

Then he paid his bail, a disgusting sum, and as they finalised Ciel's release he found himself outside again, with the American priest. The silence was palpable. There were no words between them. Bard lit a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall. It was so late, and he was overcome by some emotion he hadn't a proper understanding of. He watched Bastian stare at the mouth of the police quarters, then sigh into the night. He looked like hell, and when he glanced towards the chef, the blonde felt a moment of mateship. Man to man. He took his smoke out of his mouth, and offered it to the priest.

The American took the olive branch, frowned and then pinched it between his lips, inhaling a short, aborted puff. He coughed, the ghost of smoke dissipating above him. Bard laughed, and the other's cheeks darkened, but his mouth quirked up.

“Merci,” he nodded. Bard tilted his head in return, and rolled a second cigarette for himself. They smoked together in silence until they released Ciel. The kid was barley standing, a ghost of his former self. The chef grabbed his arm, squeezed rough enough so the kid glimpsed up and paid attention for a brief moment.

“Come work for me in my kitchen,” he said, watching Ciel frown at the offer. His heart was racing, he couldn't believe the stupid thing he had just said. “I need a dish hand, you can have the job, dove.”

“I don't need your _pity_ job,” Ciel muttered, lip curling over his teeth. “As a dish hand, no less.” Bard's heart fell, and he squeezed Ciel's arm a little too hard. He stepped back, crushed his smoked and dropped it to the ground.

“Fine,” he grit, turning his back on the kid. He gave Bastian a little nod before he left.

“ _Fine_ ,” Ciel echoed after him.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian could hear Ciel struggling, but he didn't stop to help him.

The boy was staggering through the slush, footsteps falling in awkward procession. The clergyman took a certain selfish satisfaction in ignoring his obvious discomfort. _Let him suffer_ , he figured, entire body tense. Ciel had outdone himself tonight – drugs _and_ a stabbing all in one evening. Sebastian wanted to laugh, he was so angry. He didn't spare a look at Ciel, trailing dumbly behind him, until he realised his stumbling footsteps had stopped. He turned to see Ciel a few yards back, crouching on the ground with his skull in his hands.

“Get up,” Sebastian demanded.

“I can't,” Ciel cried. He glanced at his unlaced shoes. He looked as if he'd tip forward any moment and fall asleep in the snow. “Can’t you carry me?”

“I'm too upset to carry you,” the priest retorted, cheeks burning at the pettiness of his words. Ciel's shoulders slumped and he sent another helpless consideration towards the standing man. They stared at each other for a while, until enough snow had settled in their hair. Then Sebastian gave in, like always. He ducked so Ciel could crawl onto his back. The boy gave a happy mumble, pressing his mouth against the shell of Sebastian's ear.

“Good ‘orse,” he murmured. He wrapped his arms around Sebastian, the priest keeping him in place by cupping his thighs. He bobbed up and down as the priest lead them through town – feeling like a pack mule. Ciel was so still, he swore he had fallen asleep, until he felt a little kiss on his ear.

“ _Ciel_ ,” he warned. His gloves tightened on the boy's thighs and he hoisted him higher up his back. Ciel's arms tightened around his neck and his mouth came back. He pressed three chaste kisses into the pastor’s hair. Sebastian counted them, eyes shut, knees weak.

Sebastian kept moving forward, heart skipping with every kiss. He could smell the Parisian, familiar under the miasma of strangers. By now the priest had carted his burden home, squeezing him with one hand as he used the other to unlock the barn. It was an effort to carry them both up the tall, black stairs. He dumped his baggage on the sofa, a plume of dust rising up like a mushroom cloud. It seemed to stir something within the boy.

“Are-are you really mad?” He frowned.

“You were _arrested_ ,” Sebastian snarled. His heart leapt up into his mouth. “Why do you keep doing this?” Ciel hardly blinked at his  tone. He rolled that big, haunted eye up at the priest and narrowed it.

“You're doing this to yourself,” Ciel grimaced. Sebastian stopped pacing.

“ _What?_ ” Ciel rolled his eye up to the ceiling, mouth bemused and hateful.

“You know what I am, but you keep getting upset every time I act like a whore!” His fists curled up beside him, his nose wrinkled with rage. “What did you think was going to ‘appen? That I was gonna stop fucking around and stay cooped up ‘ere? What did you think, that you _owned_ me?” Sebastian's pulse drowned out the miserable inflection of Ciel's voice. His heart beat so fast that he thought it might burst.

“I don't think that,” Sebastian muttered, tongue thick. He took ingrained steps of comfort towards the boy, whose face looked like a shipwreck. He stopped, useless before him. Ciel was panting, bleeding. He was looking him dead on the eye but his soul wasn't home.

“You're just like Adrian,” he said, mouth moving around the words like they were heavy. “You both want to keep me locked up in little rooms, and _obey_ your every whim.” He curled his fingers into Sebastian's shirt and tugged him towards his mouth. For a second he thought he might kiss him, their noses bumping together. Instead he growled, so wet Sebastian felt his spittle. “Only difference is, Adrian is _fucking_ me.” Sebastian jerked his chin up and away from the siren song.

“Shut up, Ciel.” The boy laughed at his words. He leaned in so close, nose pressed to his jaw.

“Don't you want to fuck me?”

“ _No_.” Sebastian swallowed, jaw locked. He felt Ciel blink against his face, ticklish. He smelt like a thousand things. Sebastian bumped his nose into his greasy hair, pressed in close so he could smell the real him.

“Why not?” Ciel's breathing was loud, thick and wet. His wet cheek bumped into Sebastian's. His little fingers untucked the hem of his shirt. Sebastian flinched, plucked his Roman fingers off his body. Ciel wrapped them around his neck instead, curled into his hair with a pressure more painful than charming.

“You’re only eighteen,” Sebastian said. He felt Ciel's laugh against his stomach, where they were pressed together.

“That's the only reason?”

“You're drunk,” he stated, pushing Ciel into the sofa. He squirmed, pushed off the musty material and dragged the reverend to his knees above him.

“So what,” he whined. Sebastian's stomach lurched. The kids fingers came up again to tug at his hair. The priest wrestled his arms to the couch, tried to keep him in place but Ciel was a squirmer. Each time the priest released him he would reach out again – fingers coiling in his hair, his shirt, leg bending between them to press between his thighs.

“Stop it!” Sebastian barked, taking Ciel's shoulders and shoving him on the sofa. He shook him once, so hard the kid stopped moving. His head hit the dense pillows, dust billowing up into the air. When it cleared, Ciel's cheeks were streaked with fresh tears. His little frame shuddered with hiccups. The tears seeped into the fabric, into Ciel's hair. The cleric could only dab at them with his knuckles, trembling in anger. The kid just made those wounded, thick noises, staring up at him with his mouth slack. He seemed confused, and Sebastian's heart thawed the longer he petted him.

Ciel eventually went silent, Sebastian's thumb soothing the hurt sounds from his lips. The priest stared out at the dim city lights, unable to behold Ciel's face. When he next looked, he'd fallen asleep. Sebastian lowered himself to the floor, and laid his head on the patch of sofa near Ciel's belly. He blinked. The room went dark.

……………………………………………………………………………

He woke up to a strange sound.

It was thick. Wet. Like a drain pipe overflowing, or the whirlpool suction of an empty sink. Like the ocean, when the tide dragged in waves that sucked between rocks, burst up and into the air. Sebastian blinked the sleep out of his eyes. The room was dim, his neck ached from sleeping against the faded sofa. He heard the sound again. He sat up, eyes adjusting to the eerie room. Then he looked, his skin prickled.

Ciel was vomiting. Laying on his back, chin and neck slick with pungent sick. His chest seized and he heard the sound again. He was too still. He was asleep. He was suffocating. The sound was Ciel choking, dying quietly as Sebastian had slept. 

“Oh my God, _oh_ ,” Sebastian mumbled, another sticky, breathless gasp caught in Ciel's throat. He shook him, his head rolled to the side. It didn't stop. His breath aborted in his throat, vomit stuck and bubbled on his tongue. Sebastian tapped the side of his face, started mumbling desperate nothings to the suffocating boy. 

“Wake up, _wake up_ _sweetheart_.” Sebastian turned his head to the side, and more vomit escaped, crawling down Ciel's cheek and onto the sofa. He shook Ciel again, harder. He made that horrible, choking noise. Sick spitted from his nostrils. His face was motionless. Sebastian wiped the sick from his open, wet mouth and saw his lips were blue. The priest cried out, sound harsh in the dark room. He pried Ciel's jaw apart with his thumb and pushed two fingers into his throat, until he could go no further. Ciel's throat clamped down, he gagged and shuddered. His eye opened. He rolled onto his stomach and vomited on Sebastian's legs, wheezing. His shoulders rose and fell in tortured, shuddering waves. The priest felt the warm dampness on his trousers, Ciel's cold fingers on the sullied sofa. There was a noise, a buzzing. It was so loud he couldn't hear Ciel anymore, could only succumb to the shrill, relentless ringing in his ears. He couldn't move. His palms were clammy, trembling. He surprised himself with the loud, terrified sob he made. He didn't know he was crying until the tears startled him, hitting the sick-splattered floor.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke up to the smell of fresh laundry. 

He stretched his legs and the crisp bedding shifted over his bare skin. His tongue licked over the stale, sharp taste on his teeth, his body stiffening with realisation as he prodded the fleshy gap between his molars. His stomach groaned. He ghosted his fingers over the tight skin of his stomach, shirt shucked up his middle. The sleeves were too long, collar swimming around his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away the nauseous swirling in his system. He nursed his throbbing skull, felt his hair sift between his fingers – clean and soft, freshly washed. 

A bird chirped outside the window. With his eyes shut he knew it was open, the breeze flirted with the hair across his forehead. The _clink_ of china, delicate but audible in the early morning calm. Ciel twisted in the bed sheets, rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. The gentle, yellow light fell on the reverend – sitting on the sofa, tea cup in his hands. His shoulders were hunched, his head listed forward as if he were asleep. His dark eyes stared past the cooling tea and at the citrus-scented floorboards. He turned his head when Ciel woke, casting a tired glance in his direction.

Sebastian's shirt was wrinkled, his hair tangled and tucked over his ear. There were bags under his eyes, his cheeks pale, fingers tense. Something lingered in the air, a smell that triggered Ciel's memory to the priest's handsome face, torn apart in anguish. He could see salty remnants of tears smattered across the priest's cheeks. He swallowed the guilt past his sweet and sour breath.

“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked, eyes lowering to the ground. His tea was untouched. Ciel realised, with sombre clarity, that the priest hadn't slept all night. He sat up, linen pooling on his hips and managed a nod. Sebastian took a sip from the cup, his eyes closing for a second, lips tense like the tea was flavourless.

“Sebastian,” he started, words dying on his tongue. He struggled out of the aromatic bedding, feet on the cool floor. The priest stood before he could, collecting the sad tea and wandering over to the kitchen.

“I have to go to work,” he said in a single tone. Ciel knew, from the warmth on his back, that mass had started hours ago. He took cautious steps towards the kitchen, towards the heavy width of Sebastian's shoulders. The man turned, watched him approach. His hair fell from his ear, hung across his nose. He saw Ciel's fingers reach out, touch the air with timid intention, and he shrunk away before he could touch him. It _hurt_ more than Ciel imagined it would. Before he left he gave Ciel a strange look, something waking behind his sleepless eyes. “Did you have a tooth pulled?”

“Yes,” he nodded, tongue laving over the spot out of habit. Sebastian frowned.

“Why?” 

“For money,” Ciel raised an eyebrow, as if it were obvious. Sebastian's shoulders looked so tense that it were painful. He glanced at his mouth, his chin. Sebastian made a sound that might have been a laugh if the situation wasn't so horrible.

“What _won't_ you do for money?” He said, face crumpled up. His eyebrows crushed together, his mouth grimaced. Ciel searched his face for something, but there was nothing there anymore. He'd done it. He'd pushed too far – saw to it that Sebastian's unwavering generosity and undying trust wavered and died. When he left the barn, he placed his troubles on Ciel's shoulders. The kid buckled under their weight.

……………………………………………………………………………

The sun set without colour.

It was one of those days where it was so grey that time couldn't be told. Fat droplets of rain clung to window panes and the withered tendrils of weeds. Thin, fairy-like drips would occasionally kiss the top of Ciel's hair. The lamplighter kept ahead of Ciel, illuminating his path as the sky faded out to black.

The neighbourhood had it's own atmosphere – the charming _clink_ of cutlery and diners talking echoed out into the streets. Ciel side-stepped men and women dressed finely, growing in number as starless sky beckoned hungry Parisians. The entire street was shouldered side-to-side with restaurants. Some elaborate, others rustic. Some spilled chairs and umbrellas out onto cobblestone. Others sectioned pedestrians from guests with gold-swirled windows and luscious flower beds.

Ciel stopped before a smaller, but outstandingly pretty restaurant. Lamplight flickered behind the grids of polished windows, reflecting the decorative light bulbs dotting the exterior. The doors were wide-open, the house band inviting in pitch and tempo. Ivy grew in stylish curls around the modern framework. The Chef's special was written into the chalkboard in delicate typography. The name of the restaurant, _Le Manoir_ , stood out in crimson letters on the facade. Ciel ducked around the side and to the back entrance, marked by a single lantern and a dumpster.

Inside was loud. The kitchen was a cramped affair, alive like a beehive. Ciel pressed himself into the tiled wall which was slick with perspired steam. Cooks pushed past him, nothing but a sidewards glance to indicate that Ciel was ever noticed. There was yelling, an authoritative bark that stood out higher than the clank of pans, or the hiss of a busy skillet. Bard swung his hand in one direction, his staff ducking as his knife cut the air. He was manic, grinning with a toothpick between his teeth, sleeves rolled up his forearms. His uniform was clean, and his apron filthy. He paused, knife welded in the air, when he pivoted to see Ciel. He didn't smile.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of, but begging for a job as a _dish hand_ was one of the worst.

Bard was enjoying it. In a small office above the restaurant, arms crossed over his chest as he circled Ciel. Ciel had begun pious, chin raised as if he didn't owe Bard _everything_. As is this opportunity didn't have the potential to turn his whole life around. The little room smelt like rosemary, coming off Bard's clothes and rough hands. Ciel's stomach grumbled, and he succumbed. He begged, with a lowered head, for the humble position.

“You can have it on one condition,” Bard finally decided. Ciel flicked his eye up to the blonde, sweat prickling beneath his palms. He nodded.

“Who was that priest?” Ciel frowned. He stared at his shoes, that he had polished for tonight. He shrugged, heart heavy.

“He's my friend,” Ciel settled on, looking up to see if Bard was quelled. The chef shook his head.

“You wouldn't come begging for this job, for a _friend_.” He raised an eyebrow at the kid, and Ciel swallowed. He watched Bard come close to him, stand between his legs as he sat on the desk. He pressed close until they were sharing breathes. 

“Are you in love with him?” All the air in Ciel's lungs rushed out at once, his heart stammered to a stop in his chest. He opened his mouth to retort, but there were no words to use. His body thrummed with thousands of screaming butterflies. He wanted to answer, to say _no_ , to set all the winged emotions inside him on fire. Bard smiled, a surprised little huff coming out of him.

“Wow princess,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You're playing with fire.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel didn't expect him to be there when he got back.

The sight of Sebastian, sitting on the edge of Ciel's bed, made the stupid butterflies spring to life again. The boy wanted to drop to his knees and cry, so thankful for the sight of his one true constant to be there again. The pastor looked surprised to see him – eyes widening when Ciel had dashed into the room, going still at the sight of one another. He was holding something in his hands, a little leather pouch.

He knew his eyes were on his back. He could feel them, as he turned to the kitchenette and prepared a cup of tea. The priest was wearing his coat, and Ciel feared if he spoke that the man would get up and leave again. So he made a cup of tea, and took his time with it. It was perfect. He could smell how sweet it was, stirred through with honey, in the nicest cup the warehouse had – with a matching, chipped saucer. The boy thumbed a stray drop off the lip of the cup and admired the little gift with pride. He took it to Sebastian, the priest watching him with tired eyes. Ciel's stomach lurched when he remembered his face last night – torn up in fear, wet with tears. Even in his condition, Ciel could never forget how terrible it had looked, and the sick guilt that _he_ was the cause of it all.

Ciel stopped by the bed, before the priest, and lowered himself until he was on his knees before him. He bowed his face and presented the perfect cup of tea.

“I got a job as a dish ‘and.” He kept his head down, hands trembling. The tea trembled too. His heart continued to beat quicker as he realised the priest might not meet him halfway. But then, after an eternity of kneeling, Ciel saw Sebastian's hands come forward and take the tea cup out of his hands. Ciel’s heart sunk when he heard the _clink_ of the perfect tea being put on the bedside table. Then Sebastian's hands came to his face, and cupped his cheek with warm, gentle fingers. He brushed Ciel's hair and raised his chin up so he could look at him. The priest's eyes were not dead and black like he'd expected. They were soft, determined, relieved. He stroked Ciel's hair so tenderly that the Parisian's throat seized up like he was going to cry. He knew he had goose-bumps beneath his sleeves and on the back of his neck.

In all of his life, he had never been prouder of a single moment more than this. Sebastian bent over him, hands smoothing his hair, his bruised skin, the little tears he couldn't stop from falling. He took the leather pouch he'd been holding and opened it to reveal a perfect glass eye. All was forgotten, and forgiven.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was not easy work.

By the end of the first night Ciel was exhausted. His hands, wrinkled with dish water, smelt like the plates of a hundred customers. His ears rung with the noise of the place. Bard was not the loudest cook, but instead a petite, bespectacled woman with muddy, red hair. She barked out orders in angry Argentinean, speaking not a lick of French. She was a flurry of motion, never standing still for a second, but at one moment her eyes fell to Ciel for the first time. She lowered her steamy glasses down the bridge of her nose and gave the dish hand an appraising look. Then she was gone in a hurricane of orders and mistranslated mistakes.

“That's my wife,” Bard mentioned sometime later, watching her with a funny expression of adoration and annoyance. Ciel had rolled his eye, turned back to his work and felt sorry for the both of them.

When the night had ended and the diners had dwindled off and died, Ciel made his way home and fantasised about sleeping for an entire week. For the second night in a row, however, he was startled to see a light on in the warehouse. This time he couldn't fight his smile, taking the stairs two at a time and overcome with a sense of pride. Sebastian gave a low whistle to his uniform – nothing but his dark trousers and white shirt, but his crisp, starchy apron was tied tight around his waist, strings dancing as he spun in a slow circle for the priest.

“How becoming,” Sebastian appraised, smiling. Ciel's heart skipped at the compliment. He noticed that the priest's eyes were warm again, pupils lit up with bemused joy. He slept better than he ever had that night.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was distracted. 

The windows to the warehouse were all open, letting in the unseasonable warm breeze. The priest was on his knees, sleeves rolled up past his elbows as he sorted through a donated crate of books. Some of the novels were cracked, spines peeling like old paint, covers hanging together with hair-think fibres. Others had mottled gold lettering, or none at all. Titles too complex for Sebastian to read. Yellowed pages worn with generations of being thumbed through. These were well-loved books, but Sebastian was side-tracked. 

Ciel was on his back on the bed, reading one of the books from the stacks Sebastian sorted. He was immersed, the priest could always tell when he was lost in a book because his nose and eyebrows tensed like he were angry. The priest cast him another glance, admiring the linen pyjama shorts. How could he work, when Ciel's lily-white legs were moving with absent-minded ambition over the soft bedsheets, edging the hem of those shorts up higher and higher? Ciel glanced up without warning, a smile on the corner of his mouth when he noticed Sebastian already staring at him.

“What's this word say?” He asked, finger marking his place in the book. The priest got to his feet, came to the bed and Ciel sat up to meet him, shorts shoved up his thighs. Sebastian took the book, their hands meeting on the cover. Ciel tapped at the word. 

“Passel?” Sebastian read it, and Ciel's eyebrow raised.

“What does it mean?”

“It means a group of things, like these books. I've got a whole _passel_ of them to sort,” he gestured at the stacks. Ciel laughed, his nose wrinkling but not in an angry way. He looked so alarmingly attractive when happy, his sharp little teeth flashing without inhibition.

“I like your accent,” Ciel flashed him that grin again, and all the air escaped Sebastian's lungs. The teenager shifted his milky legs, drew them up closer to his body. He looked prettier than anything Sebastian had ever seen before, and he was arrested with the desire to tell him that. Instead, he reached out and tugged a bit of Ciel's blue-ish hair.

“It's getting long,” he said.It was long enough to curl around the width of his fist. He did so, giving the boy's hair a playful tug. 

“Should I cut it?” Ciel wondered, eyes already back to his book, even as the priest tugged at the silky handle of his hair. He was frowning, but he knew it was because he was reading.

“No,” he said. He relinquished the fist in order to scratch the back of his skull. Ciel sighed and the priest watched as his eye let go of the words and rolled into his head. He keened, and leaned into his hand like a kitten. Sebastian smiled, massaged his head until Ciel made a pleased noise between his pressed lips.

“Okay,” he said after a bit. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel was paid every Sunday night, as the restaurant was closed Monday.

His first pay was humble in sum, but Ciel cherished it. He had worked so hard over the course of two weeks, and now held the fruits of his labour in a little paper envelope. His fingers stung, his cheek was smeared with grease, but he was elated. He tucked his second pay into his apron and dashed the short distance between the restaurant and the warehouse. As usual it was lit-up, Sebastian becoming a constant after-work presence. He would bring food, they'd eat, and he'd go back to the church. Some nights he’d read over Ciel's shoulder, pronouncing words for him at his whim. His voice was so striking, the teenager picked out words he _knew_ but wanted to hear drawn out and rough in the American's natural drawl. On some of those nights he'd fall asleep beside Ciel, and be gone before dawn.

There was something in the air that night. It was warm. They called it freakish weather, so used to the frigid snow that the idea of spring seemed ludicrous. It rained more often than not. The breeze was warm and fragrant. The streets were lit up and happy. Ciel waltzed up the warehouse staircase and into the perfect company of his beaming priest. He looked spectacular – hair brushed behind his ears, wearing a white shirt and suspenders over his broad shoulders. He greeted him with a half-spin as he pressed Ciel to his chest and swirled him off his feet. His nose touched his hair and Ciel slapped his arm when he started to smell him.

“Don't do that,” he chided, shying away as Sebastian inhaled. The priest laughed, relinquished him so Ciel could take off his coat and apron. He took the majority of his pay and placed it with the rest – the last of his dirty money, and the franc from his tooth. It was a lot. It was enough to please Adrian, he hoped. 

“I love how you smell when you come home,” Sebastian reasoned. Ciel's cheeks burnt. He swapped his worn-in work shirt for a fresh one. “Like lamb. My little lamb,” Sebastian babbled, eyes sparkling with uninhibited amusement. Ciel took a few coins from his pay, and showed them to the priest. 

“We're going to take these and get drunk- to celebrate,” he declared. Sebastian raised one eyebrow, his smile turning into a bemused smirk.

“I don't drink,” he answered, teeth showing, white and predatory. Ciel pushed his chest with one hand, tried to shove him but the taller man hardly budged. His abdomen tensed under the boy's open palm.

“You're a liar,” Ciel narrowed his eyes, using his thumb to push into the dip of Sebastian's belly button, warm skin felt beneath his shirt. He looked so damned attractive, Ciel turned to butter when he smiled even wider, a deep laugh travelling from his stomach, up Ciel's thumb, and making him hot between his legs.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They went to the park.

The abandoned park they'd been to before to share breakfast, before a time that any trust existed between them. The grass was yellow with months of snow, dead in some patches, but it could hardly be seen in the dark. The entire city twinkled before them. The air smelt of encroaching snow and the promise of warmer days. They wandered up into the empty courtyards of the park, passing the bottle between them. Their fingers touched. They laughed at nothing, cheeks burning with the liquor. The pair came to a tall, brick wall, over-run with ivy and Chinese wisteria. The city limits sung out, a band drifting over the fragrant air so they could hear faint violins in the dark.

Ciel's boots made a pleasant sound over the concrete clearing, a spot for family gatherings or perhaps events. There was a sole lamp lit, far enough away for it to be dark. Ciel scraped his boot over the concrete once more, spinning in a circle. The violin whispered over the wind and he turned again. He saw Sebastian as he spun, dark and waiting. He held out his hand, crooked his finger and asked the priest to dance.

“I don't know how,” he lamented, placing the whiskey on the ground and stepping in close to Ciel. The teenager took his hands and placed one on his lower back, took the other in his own and clasped his fingers over the others like he'd seen others do.

“Me neither,” Ciel whispered, listening for the music. Despite their lack of experience, Sebastian stepped him into the night when the music lilted by, and Ciel let him guide him in tight, drunken circles. They looked ridiculous, but it was so dark that they could hardly see each other. Ciel pressed in closer to Sebastian, and the older man held him close by his lower back. Ciel could see his features this close, his teeth in the faint light of the moon and the lantern.

“Why are you smiling?” Ciel whispered. He didn't know why he was whispering. Sebastian fumbled a step, they both stumbled and laughed against each other's mouths.

“Because I'm happy,” Sebastian smiled wider. He kept leading Ciel in aimless, dizzy circles, laughing when Ciel tripped over his feet. He led them quicker, turning the amateur waltz into a stupid, speedy spin. He put both hands on Ciel's hips so he could whip him around the clearing. Ciel shrieked with laughter, his arms wrapping over Sebastian's shoulders and clinging on for fear of falling. Then the priest ducked, cupped the back of his thighs, and picked him up as if he were as light as a donation of clothes.

“Are you happy?” He asked, eyes bemused at how shocked Ciel must have looked when he picked him up. The teenager wrapped his legs around his waist, and held onto his shoulders. Wisteria kissed his cheeks as he was backed into the brick wall, pinned in place there by Sebastian's body. His hands kept a firm grip on the back of his thighs, and it made Ciel blush in a way that he was thankful for the lack of light.

“Yes,” he admitted. Sebastian smiled and pressed their foreheads together. Their chests too, rising and falling in dependency of the other. Ciel enjoyed the gentle crush between the wall and Sebastian, both unwavering in strength and mass. They shared several sticky breathes, wind rustling the lilac blossoms by their heads. Their noses touched, Sebastian stared down his to examine Ciel so intensely that the boy forgot how to breath. Sebastian stared at his mouth, and stepped in closer. His hands shifted, cupped the junction between his thigh and ass. Ciel's fingers tightened in his hair. He could taste his breath, it made him so nervous that he closed his eyes. He felt Sebastian swallow, and his breath stutter as his head tilted, and his nose pressed into the side of Ciel's. The kid kept his eyes shut, shaking. Surely the priest could feel him tremble, see how his mouth was open, damp and fragile. Something hot, smooth and wet touched the side of his cheek, and a breath touched his ear. He could feel Sebastian laughing at him, or maybe shaking too. He was so sensitive that he heard the voices first, drifting towards the clearing like the violins had. He opened his eyes and could see Sebastian was startled too.

“Let go of me stupid,” he slapped the other's arms, unwrapping his legs and falling to earth again. Sebastian grabbed his hand, and the bottle in his other and they took off into the night again, running until their lungs screamed. They ran until they were in the light again, the violins louder and the smell of wisteria a distant memory. They stumbled stupidly into the dwindling nightlife, their fingers coming apart when they came across the last stragglers of a Sunday night in Paris. The priest looked to his right, towards where the Sacred Heart was. He sighed, long and satisfied.

“I need to get some sleep,” he said, standing so close to Ciel. The teenager nodded, and looked to the left, in the direction of the barn.

“Me too,” he admitted, muffling a yawn into his coat sleeve. The priest yawned too, and stepped in to press his nose into Ciel's hair again.

“Lamb,” he said, giving the side of Ciel's waist a squeeze that made the boy's knees buckle. He shied away from the taller man's fond touch.

“Will I see you in the morning?” Sebastian nodded.

“I'll come around after mass,” he promised. Ciel beamed. They tentatively split paths. Ciel kept looking over his shoulder to see Sebastian staring at him, smile visible in the dancing lamp light. When he slipped into an alleyway, they lost sight of each other, and the Parisian cleared his head. His fingers trembled as he lit a cigarette, his mouth smiling too wide to take a proper draw. His cheek stung where Sebastian's mouth had grazed it. When Ciel stepped out of the alley and into another clearing, the city appeared remarkably gorgeous, as if he were seeing it in a new light.

He came to a crossroads, where the barn laid up one street, and his old apartment was up another. Ciel, inspired and no longer tired, turned and headed for his old apartment. The square was dark and silent, and as Ciel approached he felt a nostalgic tug for a place he hadn't realised he had missed. He lingered on the far side of the square. His apartment, and the funeral home were as dark as the night above. With quick, silent steps, Ciel crossed the square and let himself in to his home.

It smelt like dust. Mould too, from the snow he figured. The stairs creaked as he made his way to the second story. The smell of off tea made him wrinkle his nose. He pressed the door to his bedroom open and everything was in place. The book he'd been reading was up-side-down on the crumpled bedding, marking his place. Ciel picked it up, turned it over and read a couple of words. He dog-earred the page and closed it, close to his chest. He took another two books from the bedside, and pulled free an old shirt from the dresser. He pressed it to his nose and shut his eyes. It smelt so good, he almost wanted to curl up in the eroded, lumpy mattress and go to sleep in the room.

But then the floorboards creaked, and Ciel opened his eyes to see Adrian standing in the doorway.

 


	13. Treize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags and the warnings. I'm not fucking around, this is a rough chapter. Take them seriously. There is some horrible content in this sucker. Entreat with care.

 

 

_Jealousy, turning saints into the sea. Turning through sick lullabies, choking on your alibis._

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The shirt fluttered to the floorboards.

Adrian watched it fall. In one hand was a half-slain bottle of spirits, and in the other was the handle of the open door. Ciel's fingers twitched in absence of the fallen books, the crumpled shirt. The room was so quiet that the boy heard the contents of the undertaker's bottle _swish_ against their confines, in time with the metronome of his heart. The blonde's mouth was a thin line of concentration. His eyes were pale in the thin slip of moonlight.

“You came back,” he said, words hesitant and breathy. Ciel knew he was drunk, could smell him over the scent of formaldehyde. His eyes were watery and he always frowned when he drank – like he was sifting through a thousand thoughts at once. Ciel shook his head, took a careful step backwards to be close against the wall. The moon to his back, his shadow stretched out across the floor and ended at Adrian's shoes. 

“I'm not staying,” he said. His cheeks were still hot with liquor, still burning inside him, fuelling liquid confidence. He spread his fingers out against the peeling wall behind him. Adrian titled his head to the side, hair falling out of place and catching in the light. The bottle swished again, his guardian sat it on the dresser with a heavy-based thud. Ciel's back and thighs and hands and head were pressed into the wall, he kept pressing back like he'd slip right through the plaster and out into the night.

“I'm leaving,” Ciel reiterated, chin raised even though he trembled. Adrian laughed, snickered. Ciel slid against the wall, sliding further from him. His hair caught in the wall and a few strands tugged loose. Adrian followed him along the room, still sneering like he knew something Ciel didn't. The chase was futile. Ciel stopped moving and the undertaker encroached upon him until he was above him, pressing him into the wall himself, hand going for it's favourite place - Ciel's throat. He held it gently, gave a little squeeze to let Ciel know he was trapped.

“I know about your little job,” he whispered, blew on Ciel's ear just to see the kid wriggle. Ciel pushed against his chest with both his palms, and he clamped his fingers tighter to his throat. He leaned in close to his ear and muttered, low and filthy. “Little fucking dish-hand, playing house with that priest like you're not some ex-slut who used to _gag_ for it.”

“I hate you,” Ciel bit, thumping at his chest with a balled fist. His guardian laughed sharp in his ear, too loud. He bit the piercing in his lobe, tugged until he squealed and stopped punching him.

“I know. I hate you too,” he sneered, putting a contradictory kiss to his ear. Ciel tried to turn his head, but he was pinned to the plaster. His breath smelt like stale spirits. “What were you gonna do? Run away from me? You think he cares about you huh _?_ ”

“He does,” Ciel retorted. He kept his chin raised, narrowed his eye at the man who drew back to give him an interested look. He was smiling, shaking his head slightly like he couldn't believe it. His thumb stroked Ciel's jugular in faux-affection.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Adrian muttered, eyes widening. Ciel's lip trembled as he raised his chin up higher, neck taught in the cradle of his guardian's palm. He leaned in until they could share a breath, Ciel's heart hammering as the undertaker's chest pinned him between two cold, unfeeling things. 

“You're in love with him,” he whispered. His hand slid up from his throat to grab his proud chin. He leaned in closer, their noses touching, and Ciel let out an involuntary whimper. He closed his eye and turned his head to the side, avoiding the undertaker's lips upon his own. Ciel felt the guardian's eyelashes tickle his skin. Adrian went unnaturally still. His fingers tightened on his face. 

“Why did you move away from me?” He asked. His voice was low, dangerous. Ciel squeezed his eye tighter and breathed out his nose. He kept his lips sealed, nervous his heart would try crawl out if he were to open it. He felt the undertaker lean in again, acrid breath against his chin, warmth of his mouth hovering above his own. Ciel jerked his head to the side, and didn't miss the way Adrian swore and laughed against his chin.

“You've never been kissed before,” he said, not a question. Ciel made a noise beyond his control. He tried to disguise the terrified, stuttering exhale between his trembling lips. He didn't answer. His eye, squeezed shut, dampened. Then Adrian's mouth pushed a hard, closed-lipped kiss to his own. Ciel's heart stopped. His mouth opened in surprise, his hands flew up to push back at the man's shoulders. Adrian huffed against his mouth and kissed him again, head tilting to the side to run his liquor-slick tongue over the teenager's bottom lip. He made a satisfied noise before Ciel opened his mouth and clamped his teeth down on that rank appendage. His muffled yell died in a strand of red spit between them.

“Little cunt,” Adrian slurred. Ciel felt his guardian's hands grab a fistful of hair and then his skull was smacked against the wall behind him, once and then again. _Bang bang_. The smack made his vision go black, eye roll back into his head, body go limp lest for his tense fingers in the undertaker's sleeves. Adrian's whiskey tongue kissed it's way into his mouth, the kid stunned so badly he could only stand there, blood seeping into the back of his shirt. He whimpered into the undertaker's mouth, spit on his jaw, his little noises getting louder, animal, until he was screaming. When his fingers moved again they scraped down the side of Adrian's face, his teeth bared and terrible as his vision swum. His guardian only forced harder. His teeth snapped at Ciel's tender mouth, bumped against him, tugged his cherry lips until they stung and bruised. His grip, one hand still ripping hair out of his head, the other around his neck, kept Ciel pinned to the wall. His head smeared blood against the plaster. 

He grunted when he hit the mattress. Face first into the lumpy bed, knees scrambling but Adrian pinned him down, grabbed his hair like a reign and tugged Ciel to his knees. He pressed himself to the kids back, took a staggering breath of his throat and groaned. His mouth was so damp, Ciel could still feel his lips on his mouth. He started crying when he realised that they'd kissed. 

“Stop crying,” Adrian muttered. Ciel could feel how hard he was, pressed to his spine. His fingers always squeezed so much harder when he was drunk. His shirt was shoved up, calloused fingers dragging over the skin of his stomach. Ciel revolted, backed up only to wriggle closer. The undertaker's fingers felt like those of a corpse. His other hand yanked at Ciel's belt, so clumsy that the button popped loose and landed between the boy's spread thighs. His pants were yanked down, underwear ripped so badly they just hung around his hips. Ciel started to breath so hard he couldn't struggle anymore. He sucked in air through his nose, tried to pull Adrian's hands off him, tried to shuck forward but he was weak. He was panicking. His eye was open so wide it stung.

“Adrian _stop_ , please stop,” he whimpered, nails pulling at the hand that wasn't fisted in his hair. He still felt dizzy from the knock to his head, felt nauseous when Adrian tilted him forward, face first into the mattress, trousers tangled around his thighs. “S-stop. Stop. Please stop,” he squirmed. His skin pricked with hot, terrified sweat. He pressed his lips shut so he wouldn't be sick.

“You're too sweet, Ciel.” His gut churned at the scent of the undertaker's words. His maw dropped and he bit the skin on the back of the teenager's neck. Ciel squealed. He thrashed, fingers clawing at his own bed till the fabric tore. The sound of a belt unbuckling sent him into a frenzy. He kicked. Thrashed. The bed rattled, old mattress rubbed raw his terrified belly. He felt his guardian lean over him, his hair touching the skin of Ciel's back. Ciel tried to snare it, tried to rip it from his head but with a firm push of his hand, the undertaker pressed his face into the pillows. He couldn't breath. He couldn't scream.

His body convulsed as Adrian breached him dry. His screams were lost in space, sucked from his mouth into the airless vacuum of the dense pillow. His spine arched, he tried to get up on his knees but he was crushed under the larger man. His thighs pressed together, tried to force him out. He could feel the sting. It burned. He was tearing in two. He was screaming so hard that all he could hear was ringing. Adrian faltered, his hand left, Ciel breathed. His chin was covered with spit, tears distorting his eye. Adrian's breath was hot and pained in his ear, struggling to enter Ciel's unwilling body. The teenager clenched, squealed. He tried to get up on his elbows but he felt seasick. 

“You're hurting me!” He screamed, trying to grab something, anything. Adrian covered him, sticky. He grunted into Ciel's ear, muttered something like _good_. He didn't stop. He kept pushing forward until he was fully inside him, Ciel's mouth spilling wounded cries of mercy. The mattress was ripped beyond recognition.

“Sound like a stuck pig,” Adrian muttered, trying to catch his breath. He was so heavy above him. Ciel went still. He felt heat dripping down between his legs and cooling on the mattress. He couldn't stop clenching. His mouth hung open without use. He'd never hurt like this. He closed his eyes and begged silently for it to stop. Not even for 1000 franc would he want to feel this way again. He sobbed, throat thick with saliva. His guardian tilted his head and kissed him again. Loveless. Cruel. Ciel moaned in unadulterated mourning. Adrian's tongue laved over the back of his teeth. He pushed it so far back he almost gagged on it. He thrust forward, making Ciel whine into his mouth.

“Let me go,” Ciel begged, jerking away, panting. Every movement stung him. Adrian pushed into him, jerked his hips up into him, Ciel's back curled again, paralysed with pain. He was babbling again. _Let me go, let me go. Please stop, you're hurting me, it hurts. Let me go._ Until Adrian had enough of it, and pushed his face back into the pillows. Ciel went quiet, breath bottled in his lungs.

“So mouthy. I'm going to kill you,” Adrian whispered suddenly, from that bitten spot behind his ear. He said it while suffocating him. He said it while forcing himself into Ciel's body. He said it while his hips hit Ciel's ass, pink with blood.

“Kill you, and fuck you.” He laughed. “No one would notice you missing. Not even the priest.” Ciel kicked, flinched so violently that Adrian yanked him up to breath. His face was ugly with tears, mouth red and wet.

“He would,” he stammered. The undertaker couldn't differentiate between tears and saliva and sweat. Ciel started babbling again. _Sebastian_. Adrian pushed him down, until his breathing stopped and he clamped down in terror. _Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian_. Adrian stared down at the cheap tattoo on Ciel's back and fucked him so hard the bed shook and cracked the walls.

“I hate you,” he muttered again, pulling Ciel's head out of the bedding and grunting it into his ear. The kid clawed at him, weak fingers, hair stuck to his forehead. Adrian could smell his head, like flowers and soap and blood. The kid tried to bite him but Adrian grabbed his neck. He spat on his cheek. He choked his neck until he stopped saying _that name_ , and started crying again.

Ciel felt a heat blossom in his chest, a familiar tightness, a burn that made his breath come thin and his eye roll back. True to his threat, Adrian was going to kill him in his bed. He coughed, felt the undertaker's fingers loosen but his sharp, forceful thrusts quickened. He was getting awkward, uneven. Ciel squeezed tight his eyes and held to the ribboned sheets. When his guardian came, it was with a damp groan into his tangled hair, and a painful, sudden thrust into the deepest part of him. Ciel kept his eyes closed through it all, felt the wet, liquid heat inside him, felt his legs prickle with dried blood. He didn't pull out but he sat up. Cool air calmed the pink skin of his back. He pressed his face into his hands as a hot wave of tears came.

“Why are you crying?” Ciel didn't answer. He pressed the heel of his palm into his eye and tried to stifle his sobs. His fingers shook. His head throbbed. Adrian patted his hip, let himself slip from Ciel at which the boy curled in on himself. His gut rolled as his thighs went slick. His guardian leaned over him and pushed his sweaty hair off the clammy surface of his forehead.

“You should be grateful,” he muttered. He tried to turn Ciel's head but the teenager shied away, eye still shut. “Be grateful that you're still alive, you lying fucking slut.” Ciel's breath staggered. He felt his guardian press a hard kiss to his hair.

“You are dead to me, Ciel.” His lips moved over his head, his hand retreated from his face. He took a look over his work. Ciel Phantomhive, curled in on himself, face buried in his sullied hands, knees and elbows pink and raw from struggling. His underwear around his thighs, ripped and dappled with dried, dark blood. His heart felt heavy. His hand lingered on the swell of Ciel's thigh. He took a breath, let him go, and left the kid alone, crying on his bed - like he’d done a hundred times before.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It took an hour to walk back to the barn.

Ciel limped. There was a pain at the base of his spine that made a hurt sound bubble from his lips at every step. His thighs rubbed raw. His trousers were bark against his skin. He left his torn underwear, along with a piece of his soul, abandoned and bloodied on the bed where he was raped. His nose was blocked. His throat sore from screaming. His cheeks scaly from dried tears. The cold night kissed him through the torn pieces of his clothes, and clung to the fresh tears he cried. The stairs up to the loft were a trial. 

He stripped off everything he wore and pressed clumsy cloths of water to his skin. He dabbed his bruises, cleaned his face, and trembled when he cleaned the blood from between his legs. He let his fingers ghost over his skin, felt how swollen and raw he was, cried out when his fingers came back damp with blood and Adrian. He crawled naked into his bed, linen dragging over his skin. He curled into the blankets and cried into the blackness. The tears came with sharp, panicked bursts of breath, hyperventilating and sobbing so loudly the whole city could hear it. 

Sleep was fleeting. He woke several times in the night, face damp like he'd sobbed through his sleep. The dawn rose too quickly and Ciel stirred, eyes heavy with his stilted rest. He curled onto his side and started at the wall, void of feeling. He watched his fingers, curled them and unfurled them. Examined the little scrapes on his palms. He touched his mouth and knew it was swollen, bitten, bruised hard with the indent of the undertaker's teeth. _His lips_. He'd kissed him. Ciel swallowed past the rock in his throat as he realised he had nothing left. He was vandalised head to toe.

There was no sun. It started to snow. Ciel didn't raise his head from the bed, he could just feel it. He could see the shadows of ghost-like snowflakes falling against the wall. When he heard the door unlock and the stairs creak with prominent footsteps, he curled further into the blankets and kept his back to the entreating priest.

“Are you awake?” Sebastian asked. He whispered it. Something rustled, like groceries in a brown paper bag. Ciel froze, staring at the wall, paralysed. He swallowed, opened his mouth but couldn't speak. He heard Sebastian come closer, the floorboards creaked and then there were fingers brushing the top of his head. The boy closed his eyes but the priest felt him flinch.

“Ciel?” He leaned over him. The bed dipped with his weight. The kid opened his eye and glanced up at Sebastian. His hair was slipping out behind his ear, his eyebrows knitted. His eyes went straight to Ciel's mouth. His hand cupped the side of his face. The little crease between his eyebrows appeared.

“What's the matter?” He whispered. His thumb brushed over his swollen mouth. Ciel wanted to speak but he couldn't. His lips formed the silent shape of the priest's name.

“What happened to your mouth?” Sebastian kept searching. There was something in his voice. Ciel's heart pricked at the tone. Sebastian's eyes were already dark. He shook his head, drew in a shaky, wet breath and the priest pulled his hand away from him.

“Were you with someone last night?” Ciel stared at him for so long that he needn't nod, but he did so anyway. One slow, fragile nod, breath bated. He watched as Sebastian's face fell. The bed shifted as the priest sat up and looked away from the boy. The room was cold. Sebastian's face looked like the sky outside. He stood.

“Are you serious?” He muttered, taking a few steps forward and then pausing. Conflicted. He turned back to Ciel and walked towards him. He pressed his fingers to his temple. The boy sat up and exposed his naked shoulders. He held the sheets to his heart.

“I'm sorry,” was all he could manage, voice rough. Sebastian frowned again, face screwed up. He shook his head.

“You're sorry? I thought you'd stopped.” Ciel shook his head quickly, nervous.

“I did,” he promised. He bunched the sheets closer to his body as Sebastian walked at him again. The priest held a quivering hand in the air, came to touch Ciel's head but drew back with a fist.

“Did you let somebody kiss you?” He asked. Ciel looked at Sebastian and could only see a vulnerable man. His guilt boiled over and instead of explanations, he could only cry. His tears served as an answer, and the priest made the most melancholy sound the kid had ever heard.

“Bastian, _please_ listen to me,” he begged. His voice sounded as ruined as he was. He was sobbing so hard he could barely string a sentence. His body sung with desperate urgency. Something was slipping away from him. He'd never felt so lost before. Not since his parents had died. There was a tension in the other man's body that made the teenager panic. 

“Get out,” Sebastian said suddenly. Ciel paused.

“What?” The bedding fell around him like a death shroud. 

“Get out _now_ ,” Sebastian said again. His hands were balled in fists, knuckles white. Ciel's heart started ripping down the middle like wet newspaper.

“I don't ‘ave anywhere to go,” he choked. Sebastian looked right past him. He went to the door and opened it so hard the wood smacked into the walls. The windows rattled.

“I don't care. I want you gone,” he said, looking to the barn and to Ciel, still tangled in the sheets. He left, took down the stairs and into the street and Ciel struggled with his clothes, slipping his boots on unlaced and leaving with only his shirt around his shoulders. He body screamed in agony as he almost fell down the stairs, and followed Sebastian out into the season's last snow. He was standing in the street. It was so early and cold that no one else was out.

“Bastian!” He ran to him, boots slipping on the slick snow. The priest turned as he reached for him, grabbing Ciel's wrist out of the air, holding it back like Ciel's skin would burn him. As if he were poison. Ciel lost his footing and fell hard on his back. He yelled without sound. The cold bit his skin. Sebastian hadn't let go of his hand – Ciel twisted his fingers in his sleeve so he couldn't leave. The boy got on his knees and faced the tragedy of Sebastian's hateful features.

“You don't understand” he begged, teeth chattering. Sebastian's jaw was so tense that the teenager could see the cord of his throat. His eyes were narrow and wet.

“I understand,” he said. He laughed bitterly, and it physically hurt the boy to hear. He kept shaking his head, he didn’t understand, he was too angry. “You were right, I was only hurting myself.”

“Please don’t go,” Ciel begged. His teeth started to chatter. He pressed his numb, wounded lips together.

“Give me one reason why I should stay,” Sebastian muttered. Ciel flinched at the way he spoke to him. He was full of rage. Ciel’s heart clenched. Hot misery stirred inside him. The butterflies multiplied and enlarged and smothered him. 

“I love you,” Ciel said. He laid his life out at Sebastian's feet, heart in his mouth. His fingers still held onto his wrist. His skin was cold. Ciel's lungs burnt. Sebastian's face crumpled up and his lips pulled down in the corners.

“How could you think I would ever love you back?” The priest's eyes narrowed, he shook his head. He yanked his hand out of Ciel's grip, which had gone slack with shock. He was on the verge of tears. His face was a trinity of the worst emotion. Anger, jealously, misery. Ciel felt them pierce his soul and take the final piece of it. He didn't react. His eye dulled. He died. Sebastian was panting, shoulders heaving.

“Go!” He ordered, and Ciel blinked. He was crying without sound. The tears cooled on his face. He wiped his cheek and sniffed. Everything was suddenly too bright, too crisp. He stayed on his knees until Sebastian left first. He went back to the barn - Ciel heard the door close, and lock. He couldn’t swallow around the lump in his neck. He stared at the snow and collected the little pieces of himself. Then he got up, and left too.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It snowed for an hour. Then it rained.

Ciel pressed himself under the red and white striped awning of a closed store. His shirt was damp. His hair was stuck to his neck. He clamped his teeth to stop them chattering. He'd left his smokes along with his coat, in the warehouse. It was cold, bone-chillingly frigid but Ciel couldn't really feel it.

When the rain stopped, Ciel left his perch. His boots, now laced, kicked slushy puddles. His trousers chaffed his calves. His fingers itched for the cigarettes that weren't there. He kept his jaw tense to ignore the chill that tickled his throat. His lungs flirted with a familiar, terrifying sensation. He couldn't shake the cough that rocked his little frame. His fingers were bitten red. He still felt that mean, horrible pressure at the base of his spine and even that hadn't hurt as much as Sebastian. 

Without meaning to, he'd wound up in the place his subconscious desired. The river was wild and alive with new current. Ciel watched as sticks and debris rushed past in a stream so thick it filled his ears with a wet roar. The kid stepped onto the bridge and watched the river run. It was past noon but the streets were abandoned. Lonely, late raindrops still fell in stilted irregularity. It was so grey that it might have been mistaken as dusk. Ciel looked again for sight of any people, but there was no one. He walked to the side of the bridge, and with both hands on the barrier, he leaned forward to look down. He watched the debris float away at such a speed they'd be lost in the countryside in sheer minutes. 

Ciel's body seized up the longer he watched. He coughed again, lungs stinging, throat thick. If he was out much longer he would die of the cold. He didn't lift his head from the river's flow. It would be the lesser of two tortures. He felt the first kiss of heat to his face and knew he was crying because he was scared. Terrified with the reality of what he was about to do.

He looked again for people. For someone that might stop him. His lips tightened into a thin line. No one. He was pained by how disappointed he felt. He didn't wipe his tears as they soaked into his collar and joined the thousands of others on his shirt. If he jumped now, he would float so far away that the undertaker would never find his body. He burnt with humiliation, and impending asthma. He climbed over the side of the bridge and sat against it's frame, only the heels of his boots on solid stone. His hands held tight to the bridge. The river drowned out the noise of his heartbeat and his pathetic sobs.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_It started out with a kiss, how did it end up like this? It was only a kiss._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment, please kudos. It encourages me to update quicker.


	14. Quatorze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr! It's bun-o-ween :D

_Let me tell you about the way he looked, the way he acted and the colour of his hair._

_His voice was soft and cool, his eye was clear and bright, but he's not there._

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The tea-cup shattered with a _pop_.

Sebastian threw the saucer too – watched it shatter against the wall in a hundred little pieces like his wounded heart. The china was too delicate and its gentle shattering didn't satisfy the priest's bleeding fury. He reduced the dining table to splinters. He sunk the kitchen knife into the bench-top so hard the blade warbled and shook. He pushed everything to the floors, scattered his perfect catalogue of donations, broke everything that could be broken and it _still_ was not enough. 

The priest's face was wet with silent tears. He wiped at them like they stung. His heart thudded in his throat. In his entire life nothing had pierced him like this. Not the rock that cut his ribs and scarred him. _No_. It was Ciel, putting his mouth onto another man's. His father’s voice kept repeating in his head. He was a _fool_. The floor crunched beneath his shoes, crystals of broken glass and china like glittering gravel across the floor of the warehouse. 

He stopped at Ciel's bed. It was the only thing not destroyed. Even the ugly, red sofa lay on it's back – but Ciel's bed was the way he left it. The priest collapsed to his knees and pressed his face into the sleep-soft linen and he cried. He felt like a child. His heart ripped apart so slowly and in such tremendous detail that he could feel muscle tearing and sinew ripped inside him. Sebastian could smell _him_. His scent, familiar in the way the priest's bed smelt after a long day of work, ripped a tortured yell from his throat. He muffled it into the sheets – consuming Ciel's smell with masochistic intention.

The snow stopped. The rain began. The droplets made Sebastian's tears stop. He sat for a moment on his knees, head still buried in the sheets until his anger grew tired and dormant. He was left with his pulverised heart and the burn of humiliation. _Ciel had said he loved him_ , he realised, staring at a strand of blue hair stuck to the pillowcase. His heart, still racing, stumbled and skipped a beat. The priest cast a look to the coat that Ciel had left on the bed, abandoned in hast. The rain was falling quicker now. With an overwhelming dread Sebastian snatched up Ciel's coat, realising the fatal mistake he'd committed.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He knew Ciel's apartment was empty before he reached the door.

The priest was damp with rain, Ciel's coat was tucked under his own to keep it dry. He shivered in the downfall and pushed away the thought of Ciel in only that thin shirt. The one he'd dampened when Sebastian had thrown him on his back into the snow, his little body so easy to manipulate. Dread nested in his ribcage. He cast a gaze to the undertaker's building beside Ciel's – as grey as the rain and the man who owned it. He looked back to Ciel's apartment – the door wasn't locked. It was open an inch, and the ajar portal did nothing to lessen the guilt in Sebastian's gut.

There was a western novel on the floor at the top of the staircase – pages crumpled under it's upturned cover. There was a streak of colour on the faded walls by the window. He came closer to the streak and realised it was blood. He reached out and it flaked under his thumb. There was more on the bed.

Thick, dark droplets dappled the ruined linen, collected in the middle of the mattress, a bundled scrap of fabric strewn by the bloodstains. Sebastian picked the bundle up, turned it over in his glove, still holding Ciel's coat to his chest. He frowned. His gut prickled. It was Ciel's underwear – or what was left, still damp with blood spilt the night before. A flash of lightning lit up the sky behind him, and he dropped the cloth. The rain came down harder until the only thing the priest heard was the droplets and the ringing between his ears. He turned and fled the apartment – took the stairs two at a time until he was damp with the downfall and face to face with the undertaker.

He was standing in the frame of the neighbouring building, arms across his chest like he'd been _waiting_. Sebastian's breath caught in his throat. A self-satisfied smirk flirted with the blonde's mouth. The priest didn't flinch as the rain smattered his cheeks and nose. He was staring – at the purple, bloody bruises on the undertaker's mouth. 

“What happened to your face?” He said, mechanical. He already knew. Ciel's coat was now damp against his chest. The other smiled and angry red scratches on his cheeks buckled.

“Little cunt bit me,” Adrian mouthed. His tongue darted over the wounded flesh of his lip. He titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, bemused and scathing simultaneously. “I tried to kiss him and he freaked out. Had to hit him pretty hard just to get him docile. Worst whore I ever had. Cocksucker can't kiss, can't fuck. He just took it like he was dead – except for the wailing. _Sebastian! Sebastian!_ ”

Ciel's coat fell to the ground. The empty square lit up electric and thunder cracked across the opening. The priest could taste acid. The undertaker raised an eyebrow, teeth glimpsed beyond bruised lips. 

“You must be Sebastian.” The priest took two strides forward and cracked the undertaker's nose beneath his fist. It gave way with a sick _pop_. The blonde hit the door behind him. It shook. Sebastian didn't stop. He aimed for his mouth. He socked him in the teeth and his knuckles came back bloody. His fist hit the door on the third punch, fists in his lapel as he was swung around. Sebastian’s head smacked the door. His head jerked as he caught a punch to his jaw, his cheek, another on his mouth before he surged forward and smacked his head into Adrian's. _Thud_. Like the thunder that cracked over the city. He stumbled.

The snow shot out from under him. He fell onto the cobblestone. A boot came up from the pavement and kicked his face. He scrambled back. Adrian kicked him in the ribs. Again and again. The priest thrashed up onto his hands and knees. Another kick. He grabbed blindly at the undertaker and dragged him down to the snow. His back hit the ground with a wet thud. They struggled. The priest yanked his hair until the strands tore from his scalp. They rolled. He clipped the undertaker's chin. His nose. It cracked. Bloody saliva stained his white collar. The snow stung the priest's back. He drew back his fist again and froze. Something cold pressed under his jaw. A _click_. The cylindrical kiss of a barrel Sebastian knew from years on the ranch. 

The undertaker laughed. Sebastian's hands fell submissively by his head. The blonde wiped his sleeve over the mangled remains of his face, sucked back a wet breath and the priest could hear how there was blood in his nose and throat. He was darkly satisfied. Rain fell in his eyes. His adrenaline faltered and he could feel every kick. He tried to turn his jaw from the gun but it followed. Over the rain he heard chattering and hushed murmurs.

“I'm not going to kill you in front of all these people,” Adrian whispered, voice thick with gore. He leaned in, his hair stuck like a jellyfish to Sebastian's skin. His hand shook, the pistol trembled on his neck. The priest saw the shoes, the shifting shadows of their audience. He released the breath he'd kept bated before the fight begun. The gun let up. Adrian's boot dug into his ribs, the coup de grâce. The audience yelled and cried. Sebastian curled onto his side out of instinct and caught a heel to his chin. His teeth clacked. He tasted blood.

“Get off my property,” Adrian growled. He drew back his pistol. The audience squealed, boots shuffled as the undertaker swung his weapon over the square. The priest crawled onto his belly, grit his teeth and got to his feet. The thunder clapped. He kept walking until the crowd was gone. He didn't look back once.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The sky was hour-less.

The priest patted for his pocket-watch and found it crushed. He turned it over in his hand – knuckles bloody and swollen. There was a nick across the top of one hand from the undertaker's teeth. He dropped the crumbled shards of his watch back into his pocket.

He was limping. He saw his reflection in the warbled pane of a shop front and it was so bad that he cut across the streets and into an alleyway. He didn't want to be seen like this, like roadkill with a clerical collar around his throat. He took the long way home.

Eventually his body got the best of him and he slowed to a standstill. He pressed his hand against his side, the worst of it. Each step twisted the blade between his ribs. He'd stopped at the crossroads- one arm lead to the barn, and the other to the tavern. _Ciel's tavern_. Sebastian hugged his hand harder to his ribs. He could hear the river, could see the bridge up ahead that stemmed the two neighbourhoods together. Something rushed past with the wind and the river – a smell. He frowned, nose twitching at something that irritated him, so familiar. Like smoke. Like Ciel. His eyes widened.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel sobbed victorious when the cigarette lit.

He'd found it in his boot, beside his knife. When his fingers graced the crushed stick he'd sighed with relief. A final cigarette. The last one. In the rain he'd struggled to light it, hands shaking over the flame. 

It's taste made his shoulders slump. It made the agonising pain between his legs fade away for a moment. He savoured the roll of smoke against his tongue. All too soon the smoke was gone, and his lips met the insides of his fingers. He dropped the butt into the river and it was whisked away so quick that the teenager didn't see it die. He raised his eyebrow. _Me next_ , he thought. He rose up to his feet and took a breath. The last one. Then he heard something dreadful over the howl of the wind.

_“Ciel!”_

With careful feet, Ciel turned on the bridge. His terrible knight stood in the rain, drenched black with a bloody face. The teenager went still, his heart slowed to a stop from it's place inside his throat. The priest's face lit up with surprise, mirroring the boy on the bridge. Ciel burnt in humiliation.

“What are you doing ‘ere?” He demanded. His teeth chattered. Sebastian stepped forward and Ciel lifted one hand up from the barricade and showed it to the priest. 

“Don't,” he warned. Sebastian stopped dead in his tracks. Ciel kept it raised until he stepped back once, twice. Three fat, dark splats of blood hit the snow between Sebastian's feet. Ciel swallowed.

“Please come back over the bridge, Ciel.” He spoke slowly. Ciel ignored him.

“What ‘appened to you?” The priest looked like he'd been run over. The sight reignited the thumping in the small thing's chest.

“Ciel. _Please_ , come back over.” His voice was cautious. His hand hovered in front of him, fingers twitching. His other was pressed to his side. 

“ _Dîtes-moi!_ What ‘appened!” He screamed. He grabbed the side of the bridge as he suddenly coughed so hard his boot slipped a little. Sebastian studied his face from his place a few yards away.

“I got into a fight.” His voice was filled with blood, like his clerical collar.

“With who,” Ciel muttered, sick. He already knew. The priest's eyes lowered to the ground and Ciel bit back a miserable sob.

“Is he dead?” He cried. Sebastian shook his head, his shoulders heaving with the effort it took him to breath. A few more drops of blood stained the snow, diluted pink under the rainfall. 

“No. He pulled a gun on me.” He lowered his head shamefully as Ciel began to cry. Thunder rolled overhead, muffling the sound of Ciel's coughs. His mouth was wet with rain and salty tears.

“You're so stupid!” Ciel finally yelled, sobbing so hard he had to lean over the railing to stay safe. He coughed, spit on his chin. “What if ‘e’d _killed_ you?”

The priest's eyes widened and Ciel watched as he finally took another step forward, so carefully – as if the concrete beneath them would break away like glass. The boy said nothing as he edged in.

“With all due respect sweetheart,” he finally said, “I'm not the one hanging off a bridge right now.” He came close enough that Ciel saw the crease between his brow. Ciel laughed bitterly.

“You want me to die.”

“No, _god_. I don't want that.” Sebastian shook his head slowly.

“You threw me out. I almost f-froze.” He coughed. Sebastian's hand reached out again.

“Come back over, _please_.” Ciel shook his head. He backed up and the priest withdrew his hand. “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said.”

Ciel swallowed. “Mean what?”

“I didn't mean it when I said I didn't love you.” Something pathetic and fragile squirmed inside of the boy.

“ _Don't_.” He whispered. He started to breath so shallow he thought he'd faint. His heart grew three sizes, his stomach flip-flopped. He shook his head, looked down at the river and exhaled. He was shaking hard. He turned his back on the priest and tried to edge further along the bridge. “Don't say it. You don't mean it.” He coughed again.

“Ciel.” He listened to the priest move closer. He ignored him.

“ _Hey_. Sweetheart.” Ciel ducked his head into the drenched collar of his shirt. He listened to the river rush away without him. Then two solid arms wrapped around his middle and he screamed. He thrashed, beating at the priest's arms uselessly. His legs kicked out over the fatal river and he cried in torment. Wet, warm lips pressed against the shell of his ear and he sobbed.

“I love you,” Sebastian muttered, deep and thick. He kissed his ear again and Ciel shuddered. He struggled as the priest told him he loved him, pressed several gentle kisses against his earring, his hairline, his hard hands splayed over his chest keeping his screaming heart pinned in place. 

“I love you,” he murmured again. His own heart hammered against Ciel's writhing back. He dragged the boy back over the barricade like he weighed nothing. Ciel thrashed and screamed, the kisses to his head like acid. He dug his nails into Sebastian's hands and heard him grunt in pain. His legs came back over the railing, Ciel twisted and the two of them fell back onto the slick snow.

“ _Let me go! Laisse-moi partir!_ ” Ciel screamed, smacking his head back against the priest's solid chest. Sebastian pressed his palm over his head to stop him from injuring the both of them. Ciel continued to kick, Sebastian's one arm wrapped so tightly across his middle that escape was inconceivable. He squirmed onto his side and slapped him, and rolled free when his inescapable grip faltered. Ciel scrambled forward in the snow towards the bridge. A wounded sound made him pause. He turned on his knees and watched the priest cup his battered face. Blood dripped through his fingers and down his chin. Ciel examined his own hand, still stinging from the slap and streaked with the same blood.

“You're really ‘urt,” Ciel said dumbly. Sebastian didn't answer. He flicked his eyes up to the boy and sniffed back blood.

“Can we please go home,” he said, voice honey-thick with it. Ciel stayed on his knees, watching the trail of blood ooze from nose to chin. He shifted closer and put his hand out for Sebastian's jaw. He lifted it, turned his cheek so Ciel could see how badly he was hurt. Ciel's fingers graced his jaw and he hissed through his teeth.

“Why did you do this?” Ciel asked. The priest turned closer to his fingers, still sitting in the snow. He frowned.

“I was looking for you.” Ciel closed his eye and swallowed. He pressed his lips into a tight, upset line. When he opened his eye again the priest was looking at him so intensely that the boy's heart clenched. The rain continued to plaster his hair to the sides of his face, both men dishevelled. 

“I know he raped you,” he said. Ciel let go of his face.

“That's not what ‘appened,” he mouthed. Sebastian reached out and cupped the back of his head. The boy fell forwards on his hands and knees. Their foreheads met. The priest was shaking.

“He told me. He _bragged_ about it,” Sebastian said, thumb pressed to the base of his skull. His voice held a nasty edge, lip curled. Ciel shook his head against the priest's.

“ _No_ , ‘e wouldn't do that...” he whispered. Sebastian frowned, his hand came to the side of Ciel's face and traced reverently over the rise of his cheekbone. He stared at him as if he hurt to look at.

“I thought. I thought you were... I didn't know that he...” He trailed off with a shudder, his eyes darting between Ciel's eye and mouth in anguish. Ciel pressed his bruised lips tighter.

“You were jealous?” He asked. Sebastian swallowed, his throat bobbing beneath the stained strip of his collar. He nodded. Ciel sniffed back his tears.

“I was jealous.”

“You should ‘ave listened,” Ciel groaned. His body ached. He couldn’t stay outside any longer. His fingers were numb, his teeth grit to stop chattering. Sebastian’s face crumpled, his eyebrows drawn close together.

“I’m sorry,” he begged. “I’m so stupid.” He sounded so pathetic, so gentle that Ciel couldn’t help but press the softest touch to the side of his head. He pushed his wet locks over the shell of the priest’s ear.

“You _are_ very stupid,” he said fondly. His heart thawed. It cried. When Sebastian returned his affectionate gaze he wanted to crawl right into his arms and be held forever. He pressed their foreheads together, instead. Sebastian smelt like blood. His nose continued to bleed sluggishly.

“We have to go inside,” he said. Ciel nodded. The priest lurched forward, his arm coming to hug Ciel around his waist until they were pressed together. He rose up on his knees, and Ciel squealed as he was suddenly hoisted up over Sebastian's shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes. The priest groaned. He staggered, then stood up straight. His cargo slithered against his chest until he was nestled in the crook of his shoulder.

“Put me down,” Ciel protested – but he was already pressing closer to the warmth of Sebastian's body. Beneath his wet clothes he was a furnace. The man kept him safe with an arm beneath his thighs and his palm splayed over his back.

“No,” Sebastian put simply, a fond squeeze to the back of Ciel's legs. It rained all the way back to the barn.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Ciel's boots touched the floor, they crunched.

His wet clothes dripped onto the floorboards of the barn, which were sprinkled in shattered china and glass. Ciel followed the trail of carnage through the warehouse. The table was on it's side. Boxes of donated clothes were disorganised and bleeding lace, fur and cotton. Even the ugly, red sofa was on it's back. The boy took a tentative step into the chaotic room and kicked the broken lip of a teacup. 

“What the fuck...” Ciel narrowed his eye and flicked his gaze towards the culprit. Sebastian kept his head down like a dog. Ciel clicked his teeth, stared back at the brutally torn array. The room was cold, a lonely breeze making the curtains dance. Ciel's breath became shallow, his knees now weak on solid ground. He pressed his palm to the wall so he wouldn't fall. The glass underfoot crushed as Sebastian took a step forward.

“Don't touch me,” Ciel barked. He used the back of his wet sleeve to dab his wet eyes. The wood went dark with the rain they'd both dragged in. Sebastian hovered uselessly, looking worse by the minute. Ciel grit his teeth and staggered to the fireplace. He shot a look at the overturned sofa, and raised an accusatory eyebrow.

“You are a brute,” he mumbled, getting down on his knees to light the fire. His hands shook on the flint. 

“I was upset,” Sebastian argued, rounding the open space keeping enough distance between them.

“No shit.” Ciel curled in on himself, his wet clothes finally reducing him to shivers. He started to pluck the buttons from his sodden shirt but spared a look at the priest.

“Don't look at me,” he muttered through the curtain of his hair. The crunching stopped. The priest sat down on the corner of his bed – which was perfectly in tact. He pressed his face into the cradle of his hands and once satisfied, Ciel removed the rest of his clothes. His naked thighs trembled as he edged linen shorts over his finger-shaped bruises. He pulled a loose, linen shirt over his body- it was dry and smelt like soap. His wet hair curled in tendrils across his shoulders, longer with the weight of rain. When he looked back up at Sebastian his heart softened.

The priest was bent over himself, one hand still covering his eyes but the other was nursing his ribs. His shoulders rose and fell with agonising breaths that Ciel could hear from across the room. He rose to his feet and took silent, careful footsteps through the glass. The fire crackled. Thunder rumbled. Ciel took a rag and a brown bottle of spirits then he went to Sebastian. The man raised his head when Ciel touched the side of his face.

“Let me see,” he said, dabbing the cloth with alcohol. Ciel combed back his long fringe and touched the rag to the cut on his eyebrow. Sebastian hissed, his hands curling into fists on his lap. He flicked his eyes toward his personal nurse, the same colour as the dried blood in his hair. His mouth was bright with blood. His tongue ran over the nick on his bottom lip.

“I don't deserve you,” he said. Ciel widened his eye and stared at the wall behind Sebastian so he wouldn't blush. He dabbed at the priest's skin again to shut him up. Sebastian’s hands found the back of Ciel’s thighs and pulled him closer. The boy took a deep breath and kept cleaning his face.

“You never know when to shut up, no?” Ciel raised his eyebrow at him. Something playful sparked in Sebastian's eyes. He tilted his head and let the boy wipe out blood from his ear. His thumbs rubbed rough circles to his legs. He went back to frowning as Ciel worked, like he was deep in thought. When he finally spoke, it was quiet and uncertain.

“Do you love me?” He whispered. Ciel's hands paused.

“You know I do,” Ciel hushed back to him. The priest's eyes flicked up with excitement and Ciel turned his head, cheeks ruddy. His heart skipped with nervous energy, chest full of bees. Ciel chewed at his bruised lip.

“This is ruined,” he diverted, plucking free the ruined collar around Sebastian's neck. The man shrugged off his coat and cassock, his clothes were soaked all the way down to his shirt. He took that off too, the fabric clinging to his shoulders. His broad, freckle-smattered shoulders. Ciel's fingers twitched as he watched the muscles shift under skin a touch darker than his own. When he was naked from the waist up, Sebastian settled his hands back onto Ciel's thighs. He glanced up, a devastatingly stare as if he could tell how badly the boy was effected. With bated breath Ciel smoothed sticky blood from his throat, his neck. His abs tensed as he breathed. His ribs were already a bluish red.

“There's a lot of bloo – _uh_ ,” Ciel trailed off when the priest leaned in and kissed his stomach through the linen of his shirt. He almost laughed at the tickle of his mouth below his navel. 

“Don’t be weird,” he frowned. His lips quirked up, fingers played with the skin of the American’s shoulders. The priest shot him a small, thin-mouthed smile. He kissed his tummy again, nose pressing into the soft flesh. Ciel slapped his shoulder softly - wriggling. Another kiss, one making it’s way under the fabric of his shirt and onto his bare skin. Ciel swore, the damp cloth falling from his hand.

“Fuck,” he murmured. Sebastian frowned, eyes darting up but chin not leaving his stomach. 

“Don’t swear,” he reprimanded so sweetly, his teeth showing. Ciel’s cheeks flushed at the sight of his handsome smile. He jumped as he was pinched on the back of his leg. His knees buckled. He kneeled on the bed above the priest’s lap and the man held his waist, the two eye level. A pretty sigh was shared between them, Ciel’s head coming to rest against the cut brow of the other’s. He could taste Sebastian’s breath, blood-sweet.

“Can I kiss you?” Sebastian asked, and Ciel’s heart tripled in speed. He tried to breath but his lungs had retired. He stared at Sebastian, eye wide as he waited for the world to end. It didn’t. Ciel nodded. Then the priest’s hands were gentle against the side of his face, thumb tracing his cheek like he himself were something gorgeous. The boy wanted to shy away into his palm and disappear. A nervous breath touched his chin. Eyelashes tickled his own. Sebastian’s mouth pressed down onto Ciel’s.

It lasted a humble second.

The dry, chaste kiss broke apart with a startled sigh and Ciel’s mouth chasing after the departed. They came together again, long fingers cradling the base of Ciel’s neck and little hands spread out over warm, freckled skin. The priest broke away again to breath, his tongue darting out over his lip. When they kissed again it was wet, and Ciel keened. The soft cry was muffled between their mouths as Sebastian pressed Ciel’s small, willing body to his chest.

“You’re loud,” Sebastian murmured. Ciel’s eyes were still shut, arms wrapped tight around the other lest he fainted. The priest was panting like he’d run miles. The teenager struggled too, mouth wet with kisses. Sebastian’s hand tugged at the back of his hair, curled the grey locks around his fist until he opened his mouth and his eye and stared captive at the other. 

“Love you,” the priest said. He titled his head, opened his mouth and touched Ciel’s lip with his tongue - hesitant. He nudged his mouth against Ciel’s maw, dropped his jaw to coax the boy’s mouth open too. Ciel _keened_. He kissed his way into Sebastian’s mouth and finally tasted his tongue. He crooned again at the touch and went white hot when Sebastian’s hips twitched.

“I love you too,” Ciel said against Sebastian’s ear, too nervous to present it before his hungry eyes. They kissed. Their teeth clacked. Ciel laughed, noise lost as the priest put his tongue into his mouth and ate the sound right from his throat. He gorged on Ciel, his abdomen undulating until he went rigid. He flinched in pain. He dropped Ciel’s hair and cupped his hand to his murdered ribs.

“Shit, _Bastian_!” Ciel hissed. He backed up, hands shaking on Sebastian’s biceps. The man groaned, his eyes closing as he eased himself to lean back on the bed. His hair was shocking against the pale sheets. Ciel examined the tender flesh beneath his hand. 

“It hurts,” Sebastian grunted. His hips shifted on the bed, stomach muscles clamping up as he groaned again. Ciel frowned uselessly.

“What can I do?” He got on his hands and knees above Sebastian, searching his eyes for something he could help with. The priest regarded him fondly, reaching up with his spare hand to touch his mouth. Ciel pressed a soft kiss to his thumb.

“Come here,” he asked of him, taking his skinny arm in his hand and pulling him down. Ciel lowered himself to the priest’s side until his head was against the crook of his shoulder, chest pressed to his side. Sebastian made a pleased sound, hand finding the back of his head again. He turned his face and pressed his nose into the kid’s hair. He smelt him and Ciel clicked his teeth. “ _Don’t._ ”

Sebastian laughed, pain lacing the sound. The boy let himself relax into the furnace of the man, head nestling into the crook of his shoulder. His hand curled up above his beating heart. Sebastian's nose stayed pressed to the crown of his hair. His hand inched lower, thumb tracing the top of his spine beneath his loose shirt. The fire made them drowsy, the endless day finally dwindling to twilight. The rain fell steady.

“I won't let him get away with it,” Sebastian said after a long time. Ciel wondered what made him think of that. Perhaps he hadn’t stopped thinking of it at all. Ciel answered with his eye-lidded, watching the fire send dancing shadows across the walls. Sebastian's pectoral muscle was solid under his cheek. 

“I'm safe ‘ere,” Ciel said. Sebastian's hand shifted up his back and cradled his head. His nails lightly scratched behind his ear.

“It isn't good enough. I want him to pay,” Sebastian replied. Ciel heard his heart beat faster. He curled closer to the man's chest, aware of every aching piece of him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to absorb the tears again. Sebastian kissed his head.

“ _I know_ ,” Ciel murmured, a warm tear sliding down the edge of his nose. It fell and bled into his drying hair. His cheeks burnt in humiliation. He wanted to scream. 

“We can face ‘im together,” Ciel said. His voice was sticky. The shadows danced, the rain fell. Sebastian’s breathing moved him like a crib. 

“Together?” Sebastian smoothed out the boy's hair and Ciel nodded in return. His other hand came to find Ciel's and their fingers touched. Their palms came together. Their hands interlaced.

“Us against everything,” the priest proposed. 

“Desperados,” Ciel agreed.

 

…………………………………………………………………………….


	15. Quinze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel really lame/nervous about this one - so if you liked it leave me a comment/kudos (tell me what you liked), or come pester me on Tumblr because I am so obsessed with this shit, I really am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lauren.

Adrian wore his hair up when he slept.

Ciel liked it. He wanted his the same length, so he could bun it up onto his head too. With Adrian’s willowy locks pinned into a knot, the sixteen-year-old could see the scar that cut across the top of his nose. Ciel reached out to brush back a strand of loose hair. When he tucked it behind Adrian's ear, the undertaker opened his eyes. 

“Stop it,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes again. His chest still rose and fell evenly. His naked shoulders practically bled into the pale sheets. Ciel touched his nose, traced the dip of the scar down the bridge and along his cheekbone. The undertaker made a little sound, twitching his nose like Ciel were an insect. The boy kept playing with the loose hair until he snapped.

“Stop doing that,” Adrian seethed. He grabbed Ciel’s wandering wrist and squeezed it until he let go of his hair. Ciel grinned, cocking his head so his own crop of short hair kissed his shoulders. His guardian was an asshole in the mornings. And the evenings. Pretty much all the time.

“I’m only touching,” he promised. He shifted, curled the sheets up between his naked legs. He’d been awake since dawn, woken by a nightmare. His heart was still flighty, even as he tested Adrian’s grip on his wrist.

“Brat,” Adrian mumbled, not letting go of his wrist but using his grip to pin Ciel down onto his back. The older man smothered him into the sheets, more hair falling from his half-hearted bun as he held the teenager in place. Ciel writhed, squealing as Adrian tugged the lily sheets from his hips and exposed his naked body to the room. Adrian clicked his teeth.

“ _Huh_ ,” he said slowly. He stared at the boy's coltish thighs, the curve of his hip and his flower stem wrists.

“Don't stare,” Ciel murmured. His pink knees pressed together. His ribs showed when he breathed in.

“You crawled into _my_ bed.” Adrian was calm. His eyes caught every shift of the teenagers limbs. His neck, mottled in blood-black bruises he'd put there with his mouth. When he sat up and reached for Ciel's hair the boy didn't move away. He tugged the short crop of hair, just hard enough to make him whine. 

“You're a little freak.” Ciel's breath quickened, Adrian's fist curling so his head tilted back and his eye lidded. He dropped the sheets from his fingers, body exposed. His nipples were pebbled, arm hairs raised.

“No. I just...” he pressed back on his guardian's chest. “It feels good when you do it.” The undertaker smirked slowly at his admission.

“Yeah?” He muttered. He dipped his head against his ear and nudged his earring. His mouth whispered over the bruised column of his throat. He opened his mouth, tilted his head and bit him hard on the neck. Ciel didn't scream. His fingers reached up for the messy bun and he tugged just as hard. His legs kicked out from under him. His breath was thick and heavy in the older man's ear. It was foreplay.

“Say you like it,” Adrian groaned. He pushed Ciel back, wrists pinned down and his own hair falling between them. The kid squirmed under him, little hips pushing up urgently. He was too lost to answer, cheeks dark. Adrian pulled back and hit him. His slap echoed into the quiet house. Ciel's cheek turned bright pink, like his saliva-slick mouth. 

“Tell me you like it,” he bullied. Ciel reached for his hands, tried to hold them. He trembled. His little chest fit so snugly against the undertaker's.

“I love, I love it.” Adrian dropped him, watched his hair puff out under his head. 

“You love hurting, don't you?” Ciel chewed his lip, a nervous habit of his youth. He didn't know what to say to it. His fingers brushed gently over the undertaker's arms, solid from a lifetime of carrying corpses. Ciel used to laugh when he said “ _you were the scariest thing I ever pulled from that cart_.” He still meant it. Ciel terrified him.

“Adrian?” He kept chewing his full lip. His fingers felt divine. He looked sweet pinned between his hands. 

“What, brat?”

“What did my dad look like?” His lips pressed together into a serious line. Adrian stared down at him for a long time. That big, blue eye waited endlessly.

“I didn't get a good look at him,” he lied. He had. The man looked exactly like Ciel and he thought about it too often.

“Yes you did,” Ciel saw through him. His cheek was still pink from the slap, darkening with an embarrassed blush. 

“I can't... remember.” Adrian trailed off. Ciel's face fell so subtly that it broke his heart in two. The undertaker sighed. More of his hair fell from it's knot.

“He looked like you. Hair a bit darker... same nose.” Ciel listened, spellbound. He pressed his fingers to his upturned nose.

“And my mum?”

“Ciel. I'm tired...” The boy looked at him patiently, with a face so pretty the undertaker would eat from the palm of his hand.

“Same eyes,” he muttered. Ciel blinked. “Big, sad eyes. Knew she was your mother as soon as I saw her eyes.” Ciel's own filled with tears.

“Oh,” he said quietly. Adrian coiled his fingers into fists on the bed as the first tear rolled down his cheek. He turned away from his guardian as if to hide his misery. As if the undertaker hadn’t been living with it for ten years.

“You love hurting,” he muttered, smoothing down the boy’s hair.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The rain fell poetic on the rooftop.

It rained steadily, a constant drum of droplets on the warehouse walls, little racing rivers on the windows. The light was grey, pale enough that Sebastian could make out the slightest of shapes in the dim room. The fire simmered. The wood cracked. 

Sebastian watched the rain hit the window over the bed, faint shadows wriggling over his bare, bruised chest. His fingers traced over the worst of it, swollen and tender. He groaned. Hardly awake the priest listened to the quiet slosh of bathwater. The place beside him in the bed was cold and empty.

“Ciel?” He asked the rain. His voice cracked. He licked his dry mouth. He turned his head to the side and cupped his ribs a little closer. 

“ _Ciel._ ” He tried again, wondering if he'd imagined it all. The bathwater sloshed again, whispers of it spilling out over the lip of the tub as a body shifted inside the porcelain cup. Sebastian blinked into the far side of the room. Ciel emerged out of the dark, wrapped in a bundle of crumpled linen. It spilled over his skinny arms, scarcely covered his bruise-smattered legs. He looked like a prince. A deity. The priest inclined toward him, groan dying on his tongue. 

“ _Bastian_ ,” Ciel breathed. He clambered onto the mattress, bed hardly dipping under his slight weight. His wet hands stopped short of the priest, cheeks dark. He looked at Sebastian’s ribs, the same colour as his blush. 

“Does it hurt?” The priest nodded. He could barely lift his head. Ciel disappeared for a second, white linen damp on his skin so he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other started. He came back with the half-finished rum, lifting the bottle to Sebastian’s lips. Sebastian drank with a grunt, fingers clutching the sheets and pulling the edges from their folded corners. He fell back with a grunt, remnants of liquor on his chin, breathing hard. Ciel watched him with a frown, fabric falling off one shoulder before he raised the bottle to his own mouth and took a hard, hearty swallow.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Sebastian muttered. The sheets were stuck to Ciel’s nipples, to the dip in his skinny stomach. He ached for the boy, ribs forgotten at the sight of his sweet Parisian. His heart skipped a beat when he remembered they had kissed. That Ciel had said he _loved_ him.

“Oui,” Ciel said, another drink for himself. He lingered just far enough from the priest to drive him mad, eye lowered like he were shy. Sebastian swallowed. Shy. Ciel was shy. He reached for his hand.

“Come here.”

“I'm all wet,” Ciel swallowed. A fat drop of water ran from his hair down his nose for effect.

“Yeah,” Sebastian mumbled dumbly, pulling at Ciel’s hand when he held it. He ushered him down to his mouth, wet hair falling like tendrils to kiss coldly at the priest’s burning jaw.

“Can I have a kiss?” He begged, hand still holding the teenager’s wrist. Ciel couldn’t quite meet his eye. He nodded, free hand resting on the swell of Sebastian’s bicep as he came in and placed the chastest of kisses on the corner of the other man’s mouth. He groaned, cupping the back of the boy’s wet hair.

He licked into his mouth languidly, head not leaving the pillows as the rain kept falling. Ciel’s wet body touched Sebastian’s, damp sheets pressing to the aching bruises across his ribs. He pinned him down, kept him close to his body with one hand over his back. He was so small that the priest could spread his fingers out and touch both shoulder-blades.

“You get drunk so easy,” Ciel breathed, pulling away too soon. Sebastian's fingers mussed the back of his slick hair as he bumped their mouths together again. The Parisian made the prettiest noise the priest had ever heard. He tilted his head and opened his mouth, licked his way into Ciel's wet, wet maw, drinking the rum right off his tongue. When he let go of the boy's hair he sat up, breathing hard. The sheets had fallen back off his shoulders, his chest struggling like he were drowning.

“You're so strong,” he breathed, giving up. Sebastian pinned him back in place against his body. It hurt, but Ciel was worth it all. His slippery mermaid wriggled against him, wet fingers curled over his arms.

“Do you like it?” Sebastian had nothing better to ask. Ciel nodded, eyelashes as wet as the rest of him. They stuck together and made him look like a Nickelodeon star. His fingers squeezed his biceps in agreement, Sebastian flexed them just to see the way Ciel's mouth opened, a little gasp. A firmer squeeze. His little body was the perfect parallel. Thin where Sebastian's was thick. Girlish and delicate where Sebastian felt awkward and brutish. He pushed back the rest of Ciel's sheets from where it clung to his skin and – _God forgive him_ – the boy let him. It fell to modesty in his lap, the sharp crest of his hips exposed, lovely line of his belly button. He was fleshier where his hips conjoined with his belly, enough for Sebastian to squeeze at. He dragged Ciel closer until their noses met.

“Do you want another drink?” Ciel asked, his small stomach pressed neat along Sebastian's. 

“Yeah,” Sebastian agreed, hands still touching Ciel's hips. He wondered what Ciel would do if he tugged off the rest of the sheets, exposed him and looked at him. The alcohol numbed him enough to sit up a little, Ciel's weight a happy press to his heart. He didn't want to let him go, lest the sun rise and he realise it had all been a dream. Something sorrowful caught in his throat as he imagined Ciel floating away from him, lungs full of the water he reminded him of. _I'm drunk_ , he knew – filled with melancholy. He kissed Ciel again, so hard that they both might feel it – dream or reality. He kissed so hard that he might create his own bruises over the path of Adrian's. 

“You're so beautiful,” Sebastian breathed, peppering kisses all over the boy's maw. Ciel's cheeks went dark, he turned his head as if he hadn't heard that a thousand times.

“Do you really think that?” His ears were red. Like men _literally_ didn't pay him for sex. Like had _no idea_. Sebastian's heart ached with all he wanted to give to Ciel, but didn't know how. He tugged his eyepatch free instead, mismatched eyes blinking at him in the dark. Something stirred in his stomach. 

“Prettier than Paris.” The priest forced him into another kiss, hand tilting Ciel's head – who met him with a hungry groan, tongue touching his. He tasted like rum, like blood, like skin. It only made Sebastian ache harder, dragging Ciel closer up his body so he could eat him, hand the size of his whole face, keeping him in place so he could take his fill. He let him breath but Ciel followed his mouth, slick body curling up against him. Somewhere between kisses they took another drink. They parted, and it was light enough for the priest to see the room around them, Ciel's upturned nose and his sloppy mouth.

He sat up quickly, winching. Ciel grabbed him, bumping their mouths. He bit Sebastian's bottom lip, tugged it into his mouth. It ached. They were tethered. Sebastian groaned, clasped Ciel's jaw so he could force him back, breath laboured. 

“I have to go to work,” he panted, Ciel already scowling because he seemed to _know_ everything before Sebastian said it. 

“You're not going to work,” Ciel whispered back. His hair was drying. He nose crinkled, the cute way. The bruises made his mouth full, Sebastian's eyes lingered. “You're going to sleep. And get better. And keep me company while I clean the _fucking_ mess you made.” Sebastian flinched. He reached out to pinch Ciel's thigh but the teenager stopped him – pinned his arms down easily too the mattress.

“No. Fuck you. I'm angry. I want to _swear_.” Sebastian swallowed. His cheeks still burnt from the liquor. Ciel's glare softened, his fingers loosened. He searched the priest's face for any signs of struggle but Sebastian was docile – rendered placid by the rum. He felt warm. Good. Ciel let him go and sat up on his chest.

Sebastian melted like butter into the bedsheets. His ribs throbbed but no longer ached. All he could feel was Ciel. Sexy, pretty Ciel Phantomhive, sitting in his lap – hot like a cup of tea. The priest held him like one, fingers curved around his hips. He squeezed. The sheets were crumpled across his lap, hips abandoned to the priest's greedy palms. Ciel blushed. He went pink across his chest too, fingers hesitating on the fabric and his own skin like he was just as drunk as Sebastian. But he wasn't. His eye was crystal clear, and Sebastian couldn't lift his head off the pillows.

“Go to sleep,” Ciel demanded. He pressed his lips together. Red lips, colour of fresh bruises. Soft, sweet. Sebastian stared at Ciel's mouth and tried to tug him closer.

“Is that an order?” The priest grabbed his thighs, lazily pushed the sheets over his lily pins but it was infinite. Ciel's modesty was drowned in a circus tent.

“It's an order,” Ciel nodded. His mouth was still sealed shut, an eyebrow raised as how drunk Sebastian had gotten without him. The American kept running his hands up and down Ciel's skinny calves until the boy plucked his hands away. He was too weak to stop. He swallowed, eyelids heavy. He wanted to say something clever, say _yes master_ – but he was already in enough trouble. He felt sheepish, and sleepy.

Before he fell into an easy slumber, he felt the boy's honey-like mouth touch his again. Even when the bed dipped, and his warmth left, the kiss stayed like sticky toffee. The priest licked over his own lip and he went to sleep.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The rain was torrential.

Ciel swept the barn in entirety. The slivers of glass hid betwixt the floorboards, stuck to the bottom of his feet. The Parisian lifted the ugly sofa back on it's legs. He threw away the splintered remains of the wooden chair. He pulled free the kitchen knife, stabbed an inch into the countertop with a grunt. He glared at the sleeping priest, slapping the blade down on the bench. 

_Idiot_ , he simmered, thumb dipping into the knife's permanent wound. Sebastian was lost to the world. His chest moved up in down serenely, head turned to the side and hair cast black across the pillows. The firm surface of his chest swelled with his breath, stomach mottled and tight. Ciel's finger touched the knife wound with newfound tenderness. How was he supposed to get anything done with _that_ laying there. 

He worked for an hour before he had to stop, the pain in the dip of his spine too heavy to handle any longer. He stopped for a moment, bent over the kitchen bench as a stabbing shiver ran up his back. He felt it all again. The hand on his neck. The blood between his legs. He sobbed, hand slapping over his own mouth as he slid to the floor, suffocating his cries the same way Adrian had suffocated him the night before. His heart clenched. The walls of the barn closed in. He hardly made it down the narrow stairs before he was on his knees, heaving sticky, sweet vomit out onto the rain-wet stone.

He sobbed, hands and knees wet and knuckles splattered with his own sick. His hair stuck to it, undid all his efforts to scrub himself clean of sin. He let himself cry, noise deafened by the roar of rain on the grey rooftops. He couldn’t see, eye blinded with tears. His heart hurt so bad he thought it would burst like overripe fruit. He was dying. He wanted to die.

His soul combusted, torn apart by how much he loved Adrian and how much he fucking hated him. He screamed, slamming his head back into the wet brick only to cry out again – back of his head still bruised and tender from being smacked into his apartment wall. For a minute he just lay limp, tears dry but the sounds of hurt still rolling off his tongue. He sounded like an animal. Like a pig. He willed the ground to open up and murder him.

The rain eventually washed clear the tears and stuck his thin clothes to his body. He was hot with self-hatred. He pushed his heavy body off the wall and crept back upstairs, wiping sheepish evidence from his bruised face. Sebastian was still asleep by the window, snoring due to his busted nose. 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian woke when Ciel made food.

He swore when he realised all the plates had been shattered, so he chewed at the chunk of bread over the bench top. Sticky sweet mustard relish stuck to his fingers. He licked it off, noticing for the first time Sebastian’s snoring had stopped, and sleep-dark eyes were watching him from across the room.

“What?” The priest swallowed, eyes flicking down to the sandwich in Ciel's hand.

“Do you want some?” Sebastian nodded. Ciel came over with his food and sat on the edge of the mattress. Sebastian struggled to sit up even the slightest, the muscles across his chest going tense and doubling in mass. Ciel waited patiently, gaze trained on the flat, scarred muscle of Sebastian's stomach. It grumbled. Ciel broke free a chunk of bread and offered it to the priest, snatching it away the second he opened his mouth. The look on his face was more satisfying than the sandwich. 

“If you ever ruin this place again, do you know what I'll do?” He warned, voice strong like he hadn't been sobbing minutes earlier.

“Starve me to death?” Sebastian tried. He stared at the chunk of bread, face grave. Ciel's heart skipped. He looked devastating in the light of the rainy window. Ciel bared his teeth despite his heart.

“I'll give you a new fucking wound to match this,” he seethed, finger prodding Sebastian's bruised ribs hard enough that he groaned, falling back onto his elbows. He made that face – the one he made when Ciel's sailor mouth got out of control, but he said nothing. Ciel _dared_ him to. His lips remained sealed and he hung his head.

“I'm sorry. I won't _ever_ do that again.” His voice was so sincere that he knew the priest wasn't only talking about the barn. He swallowed audibly. The boy pressed the chunk of bread between his lips and the priest ate it with a satisfied groan. His fingers grasped Ciel's knee and squeezed, eyes lowered as he ate the bread right from his hand. Ciel forced himself to breath.

Ciel huffed as Sebastian's tongue caught a dollop of relish on the corner of his mouth. His heart softened. He broke off another piece and fed the priest. The sticky mustard still stuck to the side of his mouth so Ciel leaned in and kissed it away. When he pulled apart he blinked at the injured man, heart fluttering like a hummingbird. The situation was too surreal. He was kissing _Sebastian_.

“Was that good?” Ciel felt warm. He hated how shy the idiot made him feel. The priest nodded, hand shifting up his thigh.

“Good. I can bring food from work tonight.” Sebastian's hand tightened on his leg.

“You're going to work?” He grit. He practically pouted. The priest had no filter between his emotions and his face. Ciel touched the side of his face and smoothed down his hair. 

“Yeah. I didn't get _my_ ass kicked.”

“But you, you were...” he swallowed. His fingers touched Ciel's side like he were made of glass. The teenager reared up and out of his touch.

“I'm not broken, Bastian.” He swallowed. He felt flighty, like he wanted to get out of the bed and slip away outside again.

“I know,” Sebastian swallowed. “It's not safe for you though.” Ciel breathed out, staring at the cuts on Sebastian's face. The wound his guardian hands had given him. He let his thumb drift over the back of the priest's own hands. His knuckles were blood red and bruised, the nick of teeth cut over the back of one hand.

“... ‘Ow badly did you ‘urt ‘im?” Sebastian's jaw squared, his chest tensed. He pressed his lips together and made that hot, hateful look that sent Ciel all kinds of crazy.

“ _Worse_ ,” he hissed. His hand curled over his ribs and he squeezed Ciel's fingers with the other. The cut on his brow bled fresh blood as his face screwed up in livid wrath. Ciel touched his tense jaw, tried to stroke the anguish from his skin.

“ _Ahuh_ ,” he soothed, knuckles gentle on the priest's cheek. The man huffed under him, breath hot like an animal. Ciel treated him as such, smoothing his hair down until Sebastian relaxed. “So ‘e won't be going anywhere tonight.”

The priest tried to sit up but he was in too much pain. Ciel easily pressed him back to the bed. He tucked back Sebastian's hair so he could see his whole, handsome face. “And neither will you,” the boy promised. He kissed his mouth once, quick.

And when the sun came down, Sebastian watched him like a lonely dog as he got ready for the evening shift. It distracted Ciel. Every time his eye caught the other's he would duck his face and hide the impulsive smile that threatened to mar his lips.

“I'm going to miss you,” Sebastian said at one point. Ciel felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He rolled his eye and sent a pointed glare at the bed-stricken man. His face was tense with anxiety. It ate away at Ciel like little termites.

The boy pinned his hair up into a bun, tucking the stray bits down with pins he had borrowed from Bard's wife. He felt shy with his neck, ears and forehead exposed. It made the bruising on his mouth even more obvious. He touched his mouth in his reflection and sighed.

“Hey.”

“What?” Ciel said to his twin image. Sebastian didn't reply so Ciel flicked his eye over to the bed. The priest wore a sheepish expression and was pulling at the bedsheets with his bruised knuckles.

“How long have you loved me?” Ciel felt his body go hot. He forgot about his bruised mouth and blinked at Sebastian. His cheeks burnt.

“I don’t know.” Ciel looked his reflection dead in the eye and saw what a horrible liar he was. He knew exactly how long. Sebastian was still playing with the bedsheets.

“I know how long it’s been for me.” Ciel paused, eye closed as he remembered to breath. His heart wasn’t strong enough for this careful, sensitive game. When he calmed down, he looked back up at the man who loved him.

“Tell me."

“The night you had asthma.” Ciel glanced over to the bed, breath hitched. Sebastian was watching him just as nervous.

“Why didn't you kiss me? That night in the park.” Ciel frowned. He looked back at his own, miserable face.

“I couldn't admit it to myself. I was so scared you'd reject me.” Ciel laughed, no joy in his voice. He stepped closer to the mottled mirror so Sebastian wouldn’t see his eye well up.

“You thought _I’d_ reject you,” he mumbled. He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. Sebastian sensed his tears, sat up in bed so quick he flinched in pain. Ciel ran to him, pushing him back into the sheets but he’d fallen into the priest’s trap. Sebastian grabbed his wrists and pulled him down onto the bed.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed with such sincerity that it opened the gate and the tears started falling from Ciel’s eyes. Like the tears, his mouth gave way to miserable noise.

“I don't deserve you. I don't deserve this.” Ciel started to hyperventilate, nose flaring as he hunched over the other’s body. Sebastian tugged him down, put a warm kiss onto his mouth and swallowed two of his sobs. He rolled his tongue against the wet line of Ciel’s mouth, licked his way past his teeth until the teenager went placid, tears dry and satisfied noises breathed out between their tongues.

“You’re good at kissing,” Sebastian groaned when they broke apart, breathing hard. Ciel rubbed his sticky cheek, felt his stomach coil. He rolled his hips against the priest’s warm thigh, let his half-hard cock nudge into his hip until it was stiff, swollen.

“ _Mm_. Am I?” He groaned, eye lidding as the priest lost his breath, hands greedy on his undulating hips. He answered with his own lazy drag, breathing out his nose as Ciel settled onto his lap. The boy nipped at his tongue, let the priest pull at the neat bun on his head until a clock chimed, distant but urgent.

“ _Fuck_ , I ‘ave to go.” Ciel broke away with a wet kiss, cheeks dark and hair mussed. His dick was hard in his tight trousers, Sebastian running his eyes over it with unmasked desire. He didn’t let go of Ciel’s hands, just squeezed at them.

“Hurry back,” he said mournfully, kissing the inside of the teenager’s wrists before releasing him.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Ciel walked through the door of _Le Manoir_ he was met by total devastation.

It was a world war. Argentinean was screamed in one direction, messy French back in the other. The yelling was so loud that it could be heard in the dining room, and the waiters apprehensively topped the customer's glasses with complimentary wine to forgive the noise. As Ciel moved to the kitchen, loud voices shaking the china on the shelves, he grabbed the arm of one of the waiters and leaned in to his ear.

“What the fuck is going on Finnian?” The boy gulped, his fingers tense around a bottle of champagne. His blonde hair had fallen loose from his hair clip but he was too frazzled to notice. 

“They had a disagreement over the desert,” Finnian murmured, cheeks pink. He glanced out over the dining room, green eyes carefully counting each flagging flute of champagne. “Mey wanted to serve the Poire belle Hélène. And Bard...” The boy stopped, eyes wide and vacant like he was recalling the traumatic birth of the heated fight.

“What did Bard want to serve?” Ciel let go of the little man's arm, muscles tense. Finnian swallowed again and looked up at the dish-hand through slightly damp eyelashes.

“Well. He wanted to serve the Crème brûlée.” Ciel hissed. _Idiot_. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully and stared at the closer door of the kitchen. Finnian looked too. 

“Good luck,” the little blonde whispered as Ciel strode through the doors. He ducked right away to miss the whistling blade of a sauce dish crashing above his head. He bared his teeth at the man who threw it, Bard's arm still raised and face falling as soon as he recognised Ciel.

“What the _fuck_ Bard!” Ciel screamed. The kitchen doors swung open and shut behind him. The married couple froze in the middle of whatever the fuck they had been doing – plates and cookware casualties on the ground. The staff was pressed to the outskirts of the kitchen, heads down as they pretended not to notice the heated fight. Ciel flicked an eye towards Bard's wife, whose auburn hair had fallen loose from one side of her head. She was welding a kitchen knife. Bard held a flamethrower. 

At sight of Ciel, the redhead threw up her hands and screamed in frustration, knocking down a bowl of cream out of spite. She yelled something wicked in Argentinean and Bard yelled right back at her. Ciel curled his lip up and went out the back, rolling his sleeves so he could start with the already overwhelming pile of dishes.

The hot water stung but it took his mind off the kitchen, and the faded pain in the base of his spine. It still hurt him to sit so he welcomed the shift he spent on his feet, smell of soap interlaced with the miasma of fresh food. He cleared most of the wreckage when he saw Bard storm back through the kitchen, shoulder knocking into an innocent assistant as he bustled past blindly. Ciel finished the last glass in the pile, dried his hands and followed Bard outside.

The chef was in such a bad mood that he didn't smile at Ciel. He watched him like one might watch a cat, shoulders tense and fingers still around his cigarette like he might frighten the kid away. Ciel slinked closer anyway, standing hip to hip with the blonde. He pinched the smoke right from his lips and put it between his own, daring Bard to challenge him through the thick cut of his eyelashes.

“Geez princess,” he breathed. A weight dropped from his shoulders. “I'm sorry for throwing that dish at you.”

Ciel swallowed, exhaling the smoke into the rain-fresh night air. The smell of Bard's cologne and the ever-present scent of rosemary made him feel relaxed. He put his hand up on Bard's arm and gave it a squeeze. The chef sighed, a deep rumble in his throat. His thick arm hugged around the smaller thing's body and dragged him up against his front, head ducking to create an intimate cocoon.

“ _Bard_.”

“What pigeon?” He curled his shoulders over the dish-hand's little frame and his fingers went from his hips to his ass. Ciel thumped his chest and squirmed. 

“Bard!” Bard let his ass go, Ciel stiff as a board in his tattooed arms. The boy searched his face for a minute, mouth struggling to find the words to say it all. The chef flicked his gaze down to his bruised lip and tried to touch his face. Ciel pulled back, only the slightest bit.

“I'm not. I... I'm not doing that anymore,” Ciel muttered. Bard's eyebrows knitted.

“Huh?” Bard continued to frown, brow still damp with sweat. His blonde hair was stuck to his forehead. Ciel looked at the back door and swallowed, hands shaking. Bard came in closer, held him tighter and put his face into his hair.

“I'm spoken for,” he whispered. He shut his eye as he heard how stupid the words were out loud.

“What does that mean?” The blonde put his hands on Ciel's middle and rubbed his thumbs against his flat belly. Ciel plucked his hands from his gently. He held them before the blonde, intertwined their fingers and breathed out slowly.

“I'm seeing someone.” Bard went tense. He shifted his nose against Ciel's hair. He shook his head.

“Is it serious?” Ciel went red. He could feel the blood in his face as he nodded. Bard searched his face, looked at him so carefully that Ciel swore he was reading his mind. Like he were transparent. The chef’s eyes suddenly widened and he pulled his hands away from Ciel's. 

“The priest! The _fucking priest_! Ciel, what the fuck! You're fucking the priest?” Ciel slapped his hand over the blonde's mouth and punched his chest again.

“Shut up! It isn't like that!” He shoved the chef but Bard grabbed his skinny arms and pushed him up into the brickwork behind them.

“Then what is it like?”

Ciel bit his lower lip and lowered his gaze to the ground. “He loves me.” Bard snorted, hands hard on the little thing's arms.

“This is a bad idea, Ciel. This will only end badly.” Ciel squirmed against him, the blonde's big chest keeping him pinned. He hit him, he scratches his arms but the blonde only grit his teeth.

“What would you know?” Ciel whispered loudly, squeezing the other as violently as possible. Bard felt just as hard as the brick beneath his palms. “Your own marriage is falling apart because you keep fucking around with whores!”

Bard's hands relaxed and he huffed. “Just one. And I _love-_ ”

“You love your wife.” Ciel's finger trembled from where it was pressed to Bard's open mouth, pointer up to say _shh_. Bard's eyes went soft and he let him go. They fell apart simultaneously. He left Bard standing out in the cold.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

His shift dragged on after their fight.

The dishes seemed impossible. The grease seemed to stick no matter how much he scrubbed. The hours ticked by and Ciel's shoulders grew tired from being tense. He knew Bard felt it too. The head-chef had more returned dishes that night than ever before and Ciel felt a little lump of guilt work it's way into his heart. His fingers were pale and crinkled from the dish water, and he rubbed them on his apron as he finally finished the last of them.

The staff had already gone home, and Mey was upstairs. Ciel heard her angry steps overhead in the office, pacing back and forth. The rain kept it’s pace. Bard cleaned his hands, lingered in the doorway of the room where Ciel worked. He cleared his throat until Ciel flicked his eye towards him.

“What?”

The tattooed blonde crossed his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat again, looking down at the tiled floor.

“This priest.” He hesitated. “Is he a good guy, or what?”

Ciel seethed. “He’s a _priest_.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Bard argued, and Ciel lowered his head. He of all people should have known that. He breathed in, rolled his sore shoulders. His back still ached.

“He is good,” he admitted. The blonde sighed, head falling back to touch the door frame behind him. Ciel’s heart ached as the lost way the chef stared at the ceiling.

“Shit, I know.” He gave in, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes softened at the eighteen-year-old. “That night you got arrested, he was looking at you like you were a fucking angel. After you _stabbed_ someone.”

Ciel’s cheeks flared. “Shut up!” He tugged at the strings of his apron. The silence was comfortable between them again.

“Do you love him?” Bard asked. His blue eyes searched Ciel’s face, didn’t blink when the kid nodded. Ciel’s breath hitched and he didn’t look away from the older man.

“What is it princess?”

“I kissed him.” His throat was thick. Bard breathed out, little smile on his stubbled maw.

“Your first one, huh?” Ciel thought for a minute, heart pounding away in his chest.

“Yes.”

Bard smirked, uncrossing his arms to squeeze the shorter man’s shoulder. “Lucky guy.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He looked good.

Ciel was damp from the rain. His cheeks were pink, mottled and his breath was loud. Like he’d run home. The mere thought had the man sitting up straighter on the bed, fingers curled so tight in the linen that it untucked.

“What?” Ciel unpinned his hair. It had waves from the rain, teased the tops of his lily shoulders. Sebastian’s biceps trembled, forearms tense as he struggled to keep his weight up on his elbows. He wouldn’t miss the show for anything in the world. Ciel sensed it, and fought the pretty smile off his cherry lips.

“Are you ‘ungry again?” His eye narrowed playfully. He brushed his hair behind one shoulder. He looked so good that Sebastian was half-hard in his linen pants. When the boy removed his shirt and trousers he became _achingly_ stiff. Ciel’s blood bled into his cheeks as he stood in only the little sleep shorts.

“No.” He remembered to breath. Ciel’s fingers touched his lady-like waist, breathed in and his ribs showed. His eye lidded, lowered to the floor and the priest wondered if the boy had this act down to perfection or if he was really moved to submission with the way he stared at him. The latter, he hoped - breath caught as Ciel got onto the bed and kneeled over him.

“Did you miss me?” He smiled, teeth peaking like already knew. He brushed back the priest’s hair and the American took a fistful of Ciel’s in turn. When he pressed it to his nose he smelt something nostalgic that made his hips jerk up. He smelt _so good_. Like food, and promises and, and. His brain stopped when their lips met. Ciel tasted even better.

His pretty hips danced over his, spread legs a tease for the priest to dip his fingers into and rut his cock against. The muscle in Ciel’s leg jumped as he gripped it, pinched the flesh so it would mar and welt under his hand. The younger flattened himself to his body, belly to his busted ribs but the priest rolled his hips up despite it, skin feverish. His cock nudged Ciel’s belly, made him groan into his pretty, parted mouth and tug strands loose from his head.

Ciel broke off his mouth, spit on his chin and backed up on his thigh. He rolled his hips, again and again, tight little circles on the hard muscle of his leg, dangerous little gasps falling right off his wet mouth. Then, before it could be stopped, his hand was on Sebastian’s cock, giving him a squeeze through the linen before going still.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out. His palm was hot, Sebastian’s head was pressed in the pillows, hand letting go of Ciel’s hair. It fell over the boy’s face. “Fuck. _Mon Dieu_ …” Ciel’s fingers stretched and his hand shifted down to map out the length and his eye widened further, and his breath aborted, and a nervous expression shot up to the priest. The American grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t. _Don’t_.” He pulled his hand back, held his guilty fingers up between them and tried not to go into a state of shock, or orgasm. He squeezed Ciel so hard he almost broke his thin wrist.

“Please don’t touch it,” he said. The boy licked his bottom lip, eye still huge. He was breathing heavy, still rocking absent-minded little circles on his thigh like he was a wind-up doll.

“It’s big,” Ciel uttered, more to himself. “It’s really big.” His hair stuck to his head, his neck. His bird-like chest was struggling with breaths too deep. Drowning. His claimed fingers twitched with the phantom touch. Sebastian shook his head.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?” Ciel kept curling his back, kept fucking himself back onto the muscle of the priest’s trembling leg.

“Dirty.”

“You think that’s dirty?” Ciel laughed - but his cheeks were dark and his eye lidded again. The blue clouded over, went stormy. Then his pretty lips were against the shell of his ear - spit-damp and teasing and his voice lower than Sebastian had ever heard it, and Ciel started to whisper into it.

“Want to ‘old it,” he enunciated, tongue skipping over the _h_. “Put it in my mouth.” 

Sebastian’s heart beat once, _hard_ \- like the throb in his tented pants. The priest rolled his tongue against the back of his teeth and struggled to stay above the water. He kissed his lips quick - twice. Ciel dropped his jaw and sucked his soul right through his tongue. _God be good_ , he thought. The teenager curled his back and sat his skinny hips back down on his cock.

“I _need_ ,” Ciel frowned, eyebrows knitted as he undulated his hips and fucked himself on the hard, urgent line of the priest’s clothed cock. His mouth pulled down. “I _need_ you, I n-need it.”

And then he was moving Sebastian’s hands, and he was putting them on the top of his hips, urging them down until the priest’s fingers grasped the flesh of his ass and it filled his palms. His skin was warm, even through the linen, and with Ciel’s hands urging he curled his fingers under the cheeks and gave a desperate squeeze. The sound Ciel made was primitive.

“Do you like it?” His eyelashes were doe-like. Sebastian squeezed again, grabbed so rough that his brain blacked out and he was forcedly spreading Ciel wider across his lap, cock jerking up into the offered skin. 

“Big ‘ands,” Ciel mumbled. Sebastian grit his teeth.

“No. Small ass.” Ciel couldn’t speak. He squirmed against him, mouth butting stubborn kisses to Sebastian’s lips. His eyes were dark - shadowed by thick eyelashes that kissed his cheeks every time he dragged his hips up. His plush mouth wouldn’t shut, kept feeding desperate noise to the priest, whose own skin was melting off his body.

“ _Ciel_ ,” he muttered. Their lips met. Quick, wet kisses. Ciel keening, thick hair shook from his face every time Sebastian thrust his hips up and bounced his little frame closer to his mouth. _Kiss_. _Kiss_. The priest wrapped his fingers deep into the milky flesh and spread Ciel’s thighs apart, made him squeal. He left one hand there, the other shot back to the teenager’s hair and yanked him up like a leash. He yanked it back so hard he squealed, then he went rigid in his lap.

He shivered. He started to tremble. The insides of his thighs twitched against the priest and his hips stuttered down to awkward, jerking movements. 

“No. No, _no no no!_ ” He whined. His eye was shut, mouth open. His neck arched back with his hair in a vice, throat bobbing. He shuddered. Hard. His fingers grabbed for nothing and everything.

Sebastian dropped Ciel’s hair. The sea boiled. He watched Ciel blink, his body give way to tender fatigue. He collapsed on the American’s chest, shoulders rising and falling, tongue pink and laved over his too-wet mouth. His nose darted hot air over his neck. Sebastian throbbed between the boneless drape of Ciel’s legs, hand still clutched on the back of his trembling thigh.

“I came in my fucking pants,” Ciel muttered, and the priest breathed out hard against his ear. He bit his tongue.

“I know,” he mumbled, stupid. His fingers hadn’t let go of his ass. He clung to it like a floatation device. Ciel’s eye slipped shut as Sebastian kissed him again. Then he let go of his ass to grab his cock through his linen pyjamas. The boy’s eye widened as he watched his bicep move, jerk with telltale purpose.

It didn’t take long. Not with Ciel on his body. Not with the cheek of his backside grazing his knuckles when he pulled himself out of his pyjamas to stroke himself. Not with the thirty years he ignored this for, and certainly not with the way he had to clutch Ciel’s hair to stop him reaching down and grabbing it.

And when he came he knew it hit the back of Ciel’s legs, because the boy flinched and dug his nails into Sebastian’s bruised chest. He let the slick tip nudge Ciel’s stained skin, let it drag through the mess. He was shaking. He shook so badly that Ciel kept smoothing back his hair, kept whispering the sweetest things into his mouth. When their tongues touched it was lazy and it was trembling.

Ciel yawned against his throat. His lips quirked up a little and he fixed the priest with a long, knowing stare.

“What?” Sebastian swallowed, hair stuck to his head. He was boneless. Ciel’s teeth showed as he tucked back his ruined hair.

“You said _ass_ ,” he smiled. His nose crinkled. Sebastian narrowed his eyes and let his head drop hard against the bedsheets.

……………………………………………………………………………

 


	16. Seize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have never worked harder on a chapter in my life - and this would not have been possible without the sublimely talented robovacation proof-reading this for me, and giving me the advice I desperately needed to take this chapter to a whole new fucking level. I am eternally grateful to you.
> 
> If you like this chapter PLEASE kudos it! Make it your 2018 goal! And chuck me a comment on your favourite bit because, oh man, those make my heart flutter and happy squeals come out my mouth!! Follow me on Tumblr too.

Ciel was in love.

He knew it wholeheartedly. He rode the intense, disgustingly vivid murmur of it in his soul as he watched Sebastian drag a razor over his lathered jaw. Shaving. Bent over the porcelain sink with a confidence in his armed wrist that only a man with serious years of facial hair could muster. Ciel touched his fingers to his soft, hairless jaw and buried his nose into his arm. The bed still smelt faintly of the other man’s hair.

It must be love. What a mundane action. Sebastian’s biceps moved as he stared into the mottled mirror and cut stubble off his jawline. It made Ciel’s cheeks dark. He coiled up in the bed-sheets, as shirtless as the priest and smiled when he side-glanced the boy and their eyes met.

“Good morning,” Sebastian said and shot him with a slow, fatal smile. Ciel smiled back, fingers carding up into his own hair as he yawned. The barn was pale and quiet. The sink dripped. A little breeze ruffled the curtains above Ciel’s bed.

“Morning,” Ciel mumbled after a bit, only to draw Sebastian’s eyes back to him. The older man’s mouth quirked as he watched Ciel stretch - purposefully. Raised his stomach off the bed and flung his arms over his head in a cat-like and lazy sprawl.

The priest stopped shaving for a moment to watch the show, eyes black. His sides were still yellow and purple, bruises fading but the cut across his forehead was still dark with blood. He knew Sebastian was anxious to return to work, if his pre-dawn routine hadn’t been obvious enough. At least he could stand without coiling over in pain.

“I’ll miss you today,” Ciel said. Sebastian was staring at himself in the mirror, catching the last bit of stubble.

“I’ll miss you too.” He gave another coy smile but it wasn’t good enough. Ciel was hungry. Sebastian was leaving. He needed him. He wriggled out of his sleep shorts, kicked them down his coltish legs until he was laying naked in the bedsheets, skin the same colour as the bed.

“I’ll _really_ miss you.” He rolled his tongue and it was enough for Sebastian to finally lift his eyes from the mirror and across to the naked boy in their bed. He flinched.

“Oh, _God_.” Sebastian’s wrist flinched and a fat dollop of blood hit the line of his lathered jaw. The razor clattered to the sink. Ciel’s breath caught in his throat and he hid his bird-like body under the frail quiver of his fingers.

“What?” He wet his mouth. Sebastian wiped his maw, cleaned the cream and blood right off his throat. The way he looked at Ciel made him press his lips into a tight line, face and neck pricking with a blush the same hue as the lazy ooze of blood on Sebastian’s jaw. He came closer and the boy sat up to meet him, sunlight catching on his alabaster skin.

Sebastian breathed out through his nose. In. His knuckles kissed the side of Ciel’s cheek and the boy's heart rose to his throat, leaned in for his mouth but Sebastian edged back like it physically hurt to look at him. Thick eyelashes, black eyes. Ciel’s stomach suckered in and contracted under the nervous stare. The priest didn’t notice the cut on his chin bleed but he flinched when Ciel flattened his tongue against the wound and licked it right from his stinging skin.

“My heart,” he muttered, close to Ciel’s earring. He felt his eyelashes kiss his cheek as they closed. Bastian breathed out and Ciel could feel him shake. Felt the tremors under his petal-thin skin when he flattened his palms over his heart and pectorals, felt the steel shift and pulse rattle. “You are so beautiful.”

Ciel’s thumb caught over his nipple, other hand dipped low to feel his abdomen undulate like his. The priest groaned, made a wet, scared sound to the shell of his ear and then Ciel was on his back - breath smacked out of him when his hair hit the pillows like the fall-out of a bomb. Sebastian kissed him. Kissed him hard like he was a bottle of brandy and he was eating the confidence right off his shell-shocked and open lips. The teenager tried to lift his hands but they were pinned down into the bed, like the entirety of him. Pinned under the hungry, terrified priest.

"Ça va?” Ciel whispered when his mouth was free, caged down by shaking arms. He tried to rub the back of the priest’s hands, tried to nudge his nose into the side of his face. He writhed. Sebastian’s eyes were too close, foreheads pressed together. He didn’t close them as tilted his head to drop his jaw and dip his tongue into the cavern between Ciel’s teeth. Ciel watched him eat his soul right out of him with his eye wide open.

“You make me nervous,” Sebastian finally spoke, pulling off him with a wet smack. He eyes flicked down at him again, glared down to where Ciel was half-hard against his belly, dark with blood. His cheeks filled with red, his fingers twitched into the bowl of his palm as the teenager tried to reason with himself. _How many men had seen him naked?_ Countless. But he couldn’t breathe this time.

“You _uh_ ,” Ciel pressed his lips together as he swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re pretty terrifying yourself, _fuck_.” Everything he had to say faltered and died when Sebastian pressed a soft, damp kiss into the skin of his stomach. His hair slipped out from behind his ears, tickled him. He wanted to laugh and sob. His knees pulled up, a laugh rumbled against his gut as the priest let go of his wrists to pin his pretty legs back down to the linen.

Sebastian kissed him again. And again. Ciel sucked his stomach in but his mouth kept coming down, tongue rolled into his belly-button in a way that made him sick and curl his spine so high off the bed that the priest could fit both palms under him and lift him higher. Like he was sucking the flesh off a mango. Ciel tugged at Sebastian’s hair as the priest slipped down, breathed out and put his cock between his lips.

Ciel _sobbed_.

He’d had men on him before, their mouths between his legs and sticky with beer and false confidence. He’d never had a man like this though - eyebrows drawn together with intense concentration, sober and trembling and tilting his head to the side. He sighed through his nose, made a noise like Ciel tasted like paradise not damp desperation. The eighteen-year-old drew his thigh up, stopped when it bumped up between Sebastian’s legs and felt how desperate he was too.

“Bastian,” he cried like he’d been hit. Those dark, dark eyes flicked up, the priest’s hips rolled down and he moaned against Ciel’s hard, wet flesh. Then he was on Ciel’s mouth, crowding back down upon him as their mouths met and Ciel tasted himself, sucked the salt off the older man’s tongue and gave him back his blood and shaving cream.

His hair was as black as his eyes. Sebastian was disturbingly beautiful. Ciel smoothed his palms over his chest, over the violently stiff muscles in his shoulders like a man possessed. Raked his nails through his hair to draw a low, tremor-inducing groan from his lips. The man’s arms gave out, elbows buckled. He pressed his full weight down into the boy and breathed into him, thrust his hips into Ciel like he existed for nothing other than his intense gratification. Their bellies met. The priest grabbed his thighs, kneaded the lily flesh and split his thighs apart so rough that it was clear he had no idea how to treat a body as small as Ciel’s.

Ciel shuddered regardless.

Sebastian’s fingers finally found his hair, words beyond him as he took a healthy chunk and tugged it good, drew Ciel’s skull back and his throat up. The teenager waited for it to come - a disgusted look, the word _freak_ as he lost control of his mouth and started mumbling filthy curses into the sweaty skin of Sebastian’s neck. The priest said nothing. Pulled his hair harder like he was trying to reign in his sanity and Ciel’s dark locks were the leash. He rut between his hips so rough and so quick that Ciel’s back burned as he forced him higher up the mattress.

“ _Bastian_.” He drew his nails up said man’s spine, drew blood and clawed down to Sebastian’s solar plexus. He flattened his palm, hugged the hard line of Sebastian’s stiff dick through his trousers where it threatened to split the seam. That’s when the priest’s arms finally gave out, his hands back on Ciel’s wrists, pinning him out as he pressed a wet noise against the teenager’s heart. His head dropped, brow damp and he shot the boy a wounded glare.

“What’s wrong?” Ciel was breathing hard. Sebastian looked like he’d stopped breathing all together. He caressed Ciel’s captured hand in apology but his face was colourless.

“No one’s ever… No one, except me.” He breathed out. Ciel nodded, mouth too sore to speak. He rolled up his hips and sighed, sweat finally breaking over his skin as he breathed. As sound returned to him. The curtains whipped overhead as he tested the hold on his wrists. Unbreakable, obviously.

“I know. I’ll be gentle,” he promised solemnly. He knew his eyepatch was crooked on his cheek. He nosed his bicep, keened the thing right off his face until he was glassy eyed and mismatched. The priest stared, transfixed. His fingers lifted from his pulse, his head raised. The bed dipped as he raised back up on his hands and knees and pressed an eerily calm kiss into the shell of his boy’s ear.

“I love you,” he whispered, and Ciel shook the feeling back into his fingers and dipped down, popped free the button and finally curled his fingers around the priest’s hard cock.

Ciel stared at his hand in flushed horror. He squeezed his thumb and forefinger but he couldn't make them meet. He hugged the end of Sebastian's cock and his mouth went dry, eyebrow raising as he let it slip up against his palm – tip sliding up into his inner wrist. He whined, turning his head as he imagined it inside him. It would kill him. He would die. His dick twitched at the thought.

“Really big,” he mumbled against his will. “Biggest one I ever, a- _ah_ fuck.” He pumped his fist over the end and felt it throb - hard enough to cut him off.

“You don’t. You - _ah_ , don't have to say that.”

“I'm _not_. Jesus B-Bastian, I don't know if you'll fit inside me... It’ll ‘urt me.” His stomach coiled in delight at the sick words. Sebastian blanched.

“Ciel, shut up.” The older man sealed his hand over Ciel's mouth and he could only whine through his nose, muffled noises sealed in private into Sebastian’s palm. He tried to moan through the flesh, tried to pull free but the priest grabbed a chunk of his hair again and tugged at it until all noises died off his lips. His wrist moved languidly, shakily. He rolled his tongue into Sebastian’s palm, disgusted with the base act but thrilled at the texture of his calloused skin under the slick of his mouth.

“Is this gentle?” Ciel murmured past his fingers, Sebastian’s wrist tense as he tried to keep Ciel pinned down into the sheets. He was like water. He couldn’t hold him. Hot bath water, on his hands and underneath him, soaking into everything.

“ _A-huh_ ,” Sebastian barely breathed. His arms shook either side of Ciel’s head and his elbows buckled. Ciel smiled at the praise, waiting until the priest raised his eyes and looked back at him with black pupils. The other smiled, their noses bumped together as Ciel wrapped his free arm over Sebastian’s shoulders and drew him closer. The priest came down heavily, hands spreading Ciel’s thighs apart as their naked hips pressed together and his dick (laughably larger than Ciel’s) jerked against the boy’s suckered belly. Their lips met for a second. Their tongues touched.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Ciel mumbled. His skin was tepid, damp under Ciel’s hand and he smelt his prickled temple. The room was on fire. He tried to keep his fingers around Sebastian, tried to hold the both of them but his size was intimidating and Ciel was only human. He felt like iron in his hand. He burnt. Ciel’s palms grasped the sheets as Sebastian batted them away, shoved his thighs further apart and fucked against him like an animal in a rut.

And when Ciel came he felt like magma. His skin pricked. He couldn't make a noise. He keened uselessly into the balmy wall of Sebastian, coiled up until his hair was sticky and his fingers dragged down the priest's biceps leaving welts the same colour as his mouth, and his cheeks, and his tongue.

He came on himself, came with a miserable noise as he went stiff and shuddered. Like a wave, knocked down under the sea and breathless for a second long enough to be nervous he'd never breathe again. The black sea rolled over him and then it was gone, wet kisses to his ear as he sobbed.

Sebastian groaned against his slack mouth, his hand tightened on Ciel's neck to make him docile like a pup, boneless against the priest as he came on him too, marked his territory with a hot streak against the teenager’s ribs. Ciel hiccupped, tried to roll away but Sebastian kept him pinned down into the mattress, kept rolling his erection into the loose circle of Ciel’s hand.

“You’re still ‘ard,” Ciel mumbled. Talking was hard. His limbs were jelly. He lifted his arm but he couldn’t keep his hand hugged around the other’s slick flesh, sighed when Sebastian curled his hand around his and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. His hips moved like he wasn't. “I want. _I need_ …” He was breathing so hard that it made Ciel go still. “I need more.” He sounded so unsure of himself that Ciel pressed a hearty kiss to his mouth and bumped their noses up against each other’s.

“Don’t be sorry,” he gasped, with a little laugh. His thighs still twitched from his orgasm. Sebastian’s stiffness didn’t falter. His eyes burnt, kept rocking into Ciel with needy, insistent little thrusts.

“I can keep up with you,” Ciel promised.

He had no idea how much the priest would force him to eat his own words.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

When Claude glared at him, the younger priest didn’t lower his head.

He kept his chin up. Eyes dark. He tensed his jaw as he walked into the church, cold with the morning and the taste of Ciel still on his tongue. It spurred him. Made him roll his tongue against the top of his mouth so he could taste him again. It had been the single most religious experience of his life to date. Claude bristled and Sebastian stood taller than he ever had, malicious memories inspiring a wicked confidence.

“Where were you yesterday?” Claude turned his nose up at him. The younger didn’t answer. The gash on his head was yellowed and dark, the ruptured cuts against his pale skin sticking out louder than any words. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders and stepped past the older priest.

“I asked you a question,” Claude said lowly, grabbing Sebastian’s bicep. They both froze. The youngest lifted his chin and swallowed. “Were you with your whore?”

“Yes.” Sebastian’s mouth quirked. Claude’s face fell. He bit the inside of his cheek, kept his heart in place as he struggled not to brag about how Ciel sounded like a cat in heat when he got his fist into his hair, how he made Sebastian feel like a man, how his – he cleared his throat. Claude turned his cheek.

“This isn't orthodox. You and that little _faggot_ -”

His voice cut off with a satisfying hitch when Sebastian shoved him against the wall. His eyes were wide, finally a glimmer of something other than displeasure on his colourless face.

Ciel was everything to him, and as he gamely pressed his palm to Claude’s chest he thought about Ciel's mouth and the smell of his hair. His hand curled into his shirt and their noses met. _Ciel's smile, Ciel's waist, Ciel Ciel Ciel_. He grit his teeth.

“Everything about you is unorthodox,” Sebastian growled. He eyed the pink scar on the end of Claude’s nose and shoved him harder, heart wild. “If you so much as look at him again I’ll show you what we do to men like you back home.”

“Men like me,” Claude repeated back. He swallowed thickly. Sebastian tugged at his collar so it was tight around his anxious throat. He nodded. His hair slipped from behind his ear and hung in front of his face.

“He was fourteen, you sick son of a bitch.”

Claude’s eyes flashed. Sebastian’s hand tensed. He considered throttling him to death. He imagined the light leaving those pale, boring eyes. The older man didn’t blink. Didn’t move. His throat bobbed and he was careful not to twitch, not to do anything to spur the beast before him.

“I won’t touch him,” he finally said. His voice was so quiet that it didn’t echo in the church. Sebastian tilted his head and flicked his eyes over the snake. He let him go, but when he moved off the wall he shoved him back with a low laugh. Claude made a sound as the air left his lungs.

“I’m not joking,” Sebastian bit. Claude looked like he was about to combust. “I will break your jaw in half.”

Then he dropped him with finality, satisfied as the older man stumbled and touched his throat, eyes wide. His glasses were askew. Sebastian curled his lip. He could still taste Ciel. It was permanent. His mouth, his smell. He was obsessed, and his heart ached to return to the barn where he knew the boy was alone and vulnerable.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s cottage smelt too clean.

The little cabin was thick with the smell of neglect, sickly sweet with the miasma of a rotting apple sitting in a veil of dust. The bed was made, everything in place besides the browning tea cup by the stove, the last thing Sebastian had drunk before abandoning the little home. The mid-morning sun was weak through the drawn curtains making everything dull and ominous. Especially the thick, yellowed letter that was stuffed under the gap of the heavy, wooden door. It was heavy when he bent to pick it up, the paper buckled. Sebastian flipped the letter in his hand and his skin pricked.

The letter was from Montana.

He tore it open, could feel the weight of the letter in his palm and as he upended it a cold, solid weight fell out into his hand. His mother's wedding ring. He turned the chunky silver jewellery in his hand and his heart hurt with nostalgia. He couldn't remember his mother wearing it, only his father. As Sebastian ran his thumb over the heavy-cut sapphire set into the ring he had to sit down.

He'd never seen his father without it.

He loved it more than he loved his son. He would never part with it. As a boy, if Sebastian had even glanced at it for too long his father’s jaw would twitch and he’d growl. _Over my dead body_ , he always said. _You won’t ever get this_. Not unless…

Sebastian didn't read the letter because he knew what it would say.

If he didn't read it perhaps he could imagine that his daddy was still ignoring him and not six feet under, rotting beneath a ponderosa pine with the skeleton of his mother.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel was the perfect height to tuck beneath his chin.

His hair was coiled onto his head, pinned into place like he was required to for work. His neck was naked, stray blue hairs falling free from his bun but Sebastian pressed them back into place. They walked close, but not too close. The streets were dark but Sebastian did nothing more than brush his fingers up against Ciel’s. Love was blind, but the neighbours were not.

The priest’s heart hurt. He still carried his father’s ring in his pocket, a miserable ember against his leg. The stone the same colour as Ciel’s eye, dark with night. He coiled his pinky finger around Ciel’s and looked up at the brilliant red restaurant, twinkling with lights and pre-dinner excitement. Around the back of the building it was private, but when Sebastian moved to kiss the smaller man, he was held back by little fingers.

“It’s my boss,” Ciel said lowly, flicking his eyes towards the back door of the restaurant. There was Bard, blonde hair slicked back and sleeves rolled up. He was unmistakable. He was smoking. Sebastian exhaled.

“Bard is your boss?”

Ciel shifted against him, palms still flat on his chest.

“I’m sure I told you,” he said. His mouth moved contritely. Sebastian stared at the fat swell of his lower lip and he stiffened. He could still hear Ciel’s voice, clear as a bell. _I sucked Bard’s cock_. He twitched the end of his nose and Ciel bowed his head.

“I could quit, if you wanted me to.” He searched the priest’s face for something, eye big and miserable. Sebastian swallowed the pride in his throat. He glanced back up at the blonde man, standing close enough to see them touch, but not to hear them speak. He shook his head and sighed.

“I don’t want that.” He tugged Ciel closer instead, nose pressing into the dish-hand’s hair to smell it once more before it became tinted with rosemary and lemon juice. Then he kissed him, hard on the mouth. He raised his eyes to Bard and stared at him as he ate a surprised sound right off Ciel’s tongue.

A low whistle broke their kiss and Sebastian relinquished his petite boyfriend. Bard was grinning, arms crossed over his chest as he nodded and yelled out to the boy they both loved.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Hey duchess.”

Bard hummed at the annoyed sound Ciel made, hair bunned onto his head like the princess he was. He brushed past the head chef, smelling like a peach as he shot a dirty look at the blonde. The withering stare made something hot and filthy curl in his belly.

“Boss,” he clicked his tongue at the blonde and bumped into his shoulder. He glanced back at the priest and his sour little face softened. Bard grabbed for the top of his head and squeezed the little bun, jiggling it out of place.

“Is he jealous?” Bard ducked his head to say it, glancing at the lingering priest. Ciel shoved him. His cheeks were dark, hair sexy from where it fell out of his perfect bun. He cast one, long, accusatory glance from Bard’s boots to his hair.

“What’s there to be jealous of?”

Bard laughed, stubbed his cigarette with the sole of his shoe. Ciel’s shoulders squared and he grabbed the blonde’s bicep. He gave it a warning squeeze.

“Don't you fucking say anything to him,” he grit. The blonde laughed, shooting a look at the lingering priest.

“Me?” He plucked a new cigarette behind his ear and stuck it between his lips. “Wouldn't dream of it, baby boy.”

Ciel stared him down, seemingly uneasy before he finally ducked under his arm and into the kitchen. The blonde watched him go, his little ass moving in his high-waisted trousers. He clicked his teeth. _Damn_. Then he disappeared out of sight.

Bard hummed lowly in his throat, turning back to look at the six-foot-something priest, eyes bright like the end of his cigarette. Bard raised an eyebrow and the priest mirrored him, cocking his head. The chef rubbed at the stubble on his chin, checked to see Ciel was out of ear shot and then, struggling to keep a smile off his face he crooked his finger at the priest and raised his jaw to him.

“Come here.” It wasn’t a question.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He hadn’t really expected him to say yes.

 _Yes_ was overgenerous. No, he’d stared at the chef like a stray dog, like Bard was going to stomp him the instant he came close enough. He even slipped into the restaurant like one, head down and ears perked at the sudden clatter of pans and the drone of people. Bard coaxed him up the stairs, let him poke through his office like a canine, watching him smell and examine everything in the room.

Bard’s office was little but clean, and dark with lacquered wood afforded from a decade of back-breaking work. Like a trophy room the chef had adorned every surface with accolades and photographs, and trinkets from his time abroad. Sebastian's thumb nudged the body of a little wooden doll, pulling back as it bobbled and rolled it's painted, plastic eyes up at him.

“Geez,” Bard rubbed at the back of his neck. “Relax a little, no? Do you drink?” The chef watched a little crease form between his brow, his eyes flash before he slowly nodded. His shoulders eased off the wall, handsome jaw still tense. Bard shook his head, dipping his fingers between two glasses and a bottle of brandy in the other. _Damn_ , the kid really had good taste.

“Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” Sebastian said lowly. “Enough.”

Bard grinned and sloshed a healthy dose of liquor into both glasses, sliding one over to the apprehensive man. Sebastian made a deep, pleasant sound as he tossed it back. His eyes looked almost black in the lamp light.

“It’s good,” he nodded, accent so thick through the French that it made the chef huff.

“No shit it’s good,” Bard laughed and Sebastian’s eyes lit up, a weight finally falling from his shoulders. Bard swore he saw the hint of a smile on stoic lips. He settled back onto his desk, nestling the glass in his hand as the priest started to pick through his bookcase.

“I have this book,” he said carefully, tugging free a power blue, dog-eared hardcover from the shelf. He flipped it’s cover and the gold caught the light. _A Beginner’s Guide to French_.

“Ah, it belongs to my wife. Her French is worse than yours, no?” He laughed, watching the other man’s face fall.

“Wife?” He repeated back. Bard wasn’t sure if he was surprised, or didn’t understand, so he held up his hand and let his wedding band catch the lantern light. Then he jabbed his thumb back at the wall, to the mottled sepia-tone photograph of the two of them on their wedding day. Bard crinkled his nose at the awkward, stiff expression but his eyes were soft. It was the only photo he had of the two of them, hanging next to the portrait of his dear maman and papa.

“My family,” he said wistfully, turning the contents of his drink.

“Do you have family?”

Sebastian stared at the content of his glass for a moment too long, that frown back between his eyes.

“No,” he said finally - he spoke it into the drink and finished the rest of it, shoulders square. Bard itched for a cigarette. Something.

“Oh.” He poured another drink instead, and another for the priest too. He needed it more than Bard did, if the lonely depth of his dark eyes was anything to go by. They let the glasses clink, eyes meeting over the rim as they silently toasted their beloved parents, both dead and alive.

The time passed too quick, and in an unsettling comfort as the two men chatted about nothing and everything. Patrons filled the lower floor, their voices trembling through the floorboards. Sebastian’s French was limited, but he was intelligent and kept up as long as the blonde spoke slowly. Bard swore a lot, but the other seemed not to mind (or to notice). Perhaps Ciel’s sailor mouth had made him immune. All too soon there was a drone of guests, and a rough thump at the door as one of his staff told him it was showtime.

“I have to go, they’ll fall apart without me,” Bard admitted, surprised by the regret in his voice. Sebastian laughed lowly, cheeks bright with liquor. The sound made the chef startle, rub at his own jaw as he fancied what to make of the handsome noise. Ciel really, _truly_ had good taste.

He put his hand between the priest’s shoulders as they headed back downstairs, sides bumping like they’d known each other for years. The liquor helped, a lot. Before he hit the first floor he stopped Sebastian with a squeeze to his arm, and leaned in closer to his ear. He smelt nice.

“Ciel’s really crazy about you,” he said, letting his eyelashes come up and meet the priest’s serious stare. He nodded, swallowed and his throat dipped beneath his collar. “Do you know what I’m saying? Crazy. He’s in love with you.” It took a moment for his point to sink in. Sebastian’s face fell. He realised he was getting The Talk. Bard’s hand tightened around his bicep.

“So, if you ever hurt my little pigeon,” and he paused to switch to English - the priest’s eyebrow arching, “I’ll cut off your dick with my kitchen knife, okay?” Sebastian swallowed. Bard slapped his arm and laughed, breaking the serious mood. He didn’t need to reiterate it. Sebastian got the point. They got halfway out the door when a sharp bark cut them off.

“What the fuck!”

Ciel was frozen, dish-washer in one hand and a champagne flute in the other - eye livid, cheeks red. His pretty hair had fallen loose already, stuck to the sides of his head with suds. The look might have been endearing if not for the way his eye narrowed and his teeth bared. Bard cocked his head at the kitten and laughed - the liquor talking.

Ciel aimed the end of the glass at Sebastian and asked him something in English. The priest blinked owlishly and Bard rested his elbow on the other’s shoulder. Ciel was a vision. He then turned, and jabbed his finger at the head chef.

“What did you say to him Bard?”

The blonde tongued the inside of his cheek, kinda pissed off in the way that got his heart thumping. Ciel was flustered, worked up. Bard’s dick was half-hard just seeing him mad and he was aware of how _fucked up_ that was but it was how the teenager conditioned him to be. It was Pavlovian.

“Nothing,” he smirked. _Yet_ . Ciel smouldered. He took his arm off the priest’s shoulder, who was still caught in the lamplight of Ciel’s fury. He steered him outside, glancing over his shoulder at the angry boy to see if he would follow. He didn’t. He was too busy - _God bless his hard-working little soul_.

The look on Sebastian’s face didn’t falter, shell-shocked and cheeks red as Bard lead him out the back again and lit a smoke. He offered Sebastian one too but he shook his head, still blinking away his drunk bewilderment. It made Bard smile and his chest was tight with affection. Sebastian was a good guy. Honest. Trustworthy.

“He has a temper, huh?” Bard said. Sebastian clicked his teeth and nodded.

“God, yes.”

The blonde smiled, lazy and confident. His dick was still hard. He loved Ciel. So much that he shouldered his pride and leaned in closer to the taller man. He offered him his cigarette, a passing of the torch.

Bard watched as the priest drew in, looked up at the still night and all the stars. He really loved Ciel, and he proved that with the next thing he said.

“Hey. Want to know something about Ciel?”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel ripped the bun out of his hair.

It was damp with soap suds, greasy and frazzled. He shook it loose and gave Sebastian an accusatory stare. The priest was head-down at the kitchen table, staring at a glass of whiskey. He’d been that way ever since the boy had skipped up the stairs, like he could sense the trouble he was in.

“Why were you talking to ‘im?” Ciel’s hands shook as he rolled up his sleeves. “What did ‘e say? Did ‘e say something about me?” The priest raised his head. His eyes were dark, hair kinda out of place. He looked drunk. He looked like he was thinking about something else.

“He didn’t tell me anything… bad.”

Ciel swallowed as the priest flicked his eyes up and down his body. He could still feel his fingerprints on his legs and the ache between his legs. He felt ugly in his work clothes but Sebastian appraised him like a starving man. His eyes had that far away feeling, though.

“What did ‘e say? Are you guys buddies now?” Ciel paced a circle, unable to shake the nervous flutter from his heart. “I don’t like it. You ‘ave nothing in common.”

“We have things in common.”

Ciel shot him a look so poisonous it could sink ships. He showed him the end of his finger, pointed it at Sebastian in a way that seethed _if you say me, I will kill you_.

The younger man snatched the whiskey bottle off the table and topped up the glass so quick it sloshed over the rim and onto the bench. He shot it back easily, fleeting feeling in his soul melting into the burning warmth of the liquor.

When he put the glass back on the table he noticed there was a letter pinned under the bottle, damp from the bottom. The ink bled. Sebastian’s name was scrawled across the thick, yellowed envelope. The boy went very still and Sebastian’s silence was suddenly terrifying.

“What’s with the letter?” He touched it, made the paper crack under his thumb. The priest looked up and his cheeks were dark with the drink. He shrugged, hair touching his face but he made no move to push it back. Ciel did it for him, looping it back over his ear until the priest replied.

“My dad died,” he said with no fanfare. Ciel’s fingers froze against the warm shell of Sebastian’s ear. He pressed his lips together and he breathed in. Sebastian breathed out.

“Oh. Oh, _Bastian_. Are you okay?” He frowned at the stupid question. He cupped the side of the man’s cheek but he turned from it.

“I shouldn’t be upset. He didn’t love me.” His eyes darted to the floorboards like a fool. Ciel’s heart filled with water and sank to the bottom of his stomach. _I love you, isn’t it enough?_ It’s what he wanted to say. He held his mean tongue and reached again for the warmth of Sebastian’s face. When he didn’t turn away again Ciel sighed, bent over and pressed a dozen loving kisses into the ebony hairline. He willed each one to heal the other’s aching heart. He pressed kisses to his head, his ear and the side of his nose. He kissed him so quickly that he sat down in his lap, strong arms around him and kisses returned to his pitiful face.

“You’re allowed to miss ‘im,” Ciel promised. He let Sebastian kiss his neck. It was wet, and when he pulled back he realised the other was crying soundlessly. His heart crumpled. His hands shook on the back of Sebastian’s head.

“You can miss ‘im, even after what ‘e did to you.”

Sebastian finally looked him in the eye. For a long time. Long enough that Ciel understood he hadn’t been speaking for the priest, but for the both of them.

He was tired. Emotionally, physically. So tired that Sebastian’s fingers felt like heaven in his hair, and the priest’s tears dried up because even he was so lethargic he couldn’t muster up any more salt for his deceased dad. There was nothing left.

Nothing but the bottle of whiskey and the memory of the fathers who didn’t love them.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian smelt good.

He always smelt good. Smelt sort of sweaty from the walk back home, but in the way that made Ciel’s gut coil and his breath come short. Like cologne and something distinctly possessing.

Ciel’s heart tremored. He couldn’t help it. Not while sitting in his lap. Not while spread out over his knee with his heavy cock pressing into his zipper. Ciel took another drink, trying not to fall apart from the warm, practically chaste palms rubbing up and down his clothed thighs.

“Real pretty, Ciel.” He was drunk. He ran his mouth when he was drunk. Ciel nudged closer to his throat and looked up through his eyelashes at the priest, who was staring down at him like he was a million franc. He brushed the hair back from Ciel’s face and smiled lazily. His fingers tugged at his eyepatch and then it was gone, and Sebastian’s own eyes went dark as he stared into both of the eighteen-year-old’s.

“Really… pretty.” He mumbled again, thumb rough on his mouth. Ciel nodded, cotton-mouthed from the liquor and caught up in the way Sebastian’s leg was pressing up into his ass. He opened his mouth, let Sebastian nudge the end of his thumb between his teeth and he closed his lips around him. He sighed. Like he was eating. Laved the top of his tongue right up under the rough-ish skin of Sebastian’s finger. He shook the same way he shook that morning, eyes dark but excited. Ciel hollowed his cheeks and made a noise he should have been mortified at. It was worth it - for the way Sebastian shuddered, nerves forgotten and free hand tugging down on his hips so they could rock together. The chair squeaked on the floorboards as he ground Ciel down into his lap and popped his thumb out his mouth to leave a slick mess on his open lips.

“You’re real pretty too,” Ciel mumbled, stupidly. His heart kicked up when the priest grabbed his ass, dragged him even tighter so he could whisper his fingers over the patch of skin between his shirt and trousers. His thumb was still wet, made him erupt in goosebumps as he hitched his shirt up over his curling spine. He flattened his own palm down and shoved it over the stiff flesh in Sebastian’s trousers, palmed it until the priest fed rare, dirty sounds up into his ear.

They kissed like they’d never kissed before. Like drunk teenagers, and while it was half true Ciel was faintly annoyed he couldn’t pull together a little more finesse. He was a professional, after all. _An ex-professional_ , he thought with a little smile, feral noise in his throat as Bastian latched onto his neck with a slick roll of his tongue and all rational thought left his head. Sebastian bit him. Dug his teeth into his skin like he had no control over it.

“Bastian, ah- _fuck!_ ” Fingers dipped into the back of his pants, past the dimples at the base of his spine and curled into the fat of his ass. He felt hot air on his neck, panting over his bitten skin. He sunk his teeth in again, bit him right on the column of his throat and Ciel went still. His fingers clenched, bruised Ciel’s peach-like ass and Bastian’s eyelashes fluttered against his throat as he asked in a deep, sticky voice...

“Do you like it here?”

Ciel swallowed the lump in his throat. His pupil went black. All the hairs on his body prickled and stood straight, made him shiver when Sebastian grabbed him rough enough to spread his cheeks apart, fingers dry against the crease of his ass. Ciel’s free hand slipped up and grabbed the dark, damp hair on the back of Sebastian’s neck and he grunted.

“Ciel,” he said again. Quietly. Wet his mouth. His hand was grabbing him so hard that it hurt. Ciel still had his palm flat against Sebastian’s crotch. He could feel how hot he was. He felt him throb.

“I said, do you like it here?” He sounded so nervous. His hand shifted, his fingers moved up and the end of his ring finger brushed against Ciel’s entrance. He couldn’t stop the sound that fell out of his mouth. Sebastian breathed into his hair, satisfied with his answer. The pad of his finger caught his rim again, tugged at it a little bit in a way that was bold for even a _drunk_ priest.

“Bard said you would,” Sebastian whispered. Ciel flushed hot. He wanted to be mad but his brain was shutting down bit by bit - starting with verbal function. He hadn’t spoken but his mouth was glued shut with spit. “He said that you like getting fingered. I didn’t...” He had to stop to breath. Flicked his thick eyelashes up to the boy in his lap and breathed out shaking. “I didn’t even know what that meant.” He breathed in again, Ciel moved against his chest like a swell in the ocean.

“Please,” Ciel sobbed. Let his accent get sloppy. Wasn’t sure it was English anymore. He didn’t look at Sebastian. Couldn’t. “Put it in me, _please_.”

“Wow,” Sebastian laughed. His finger crooked. “Manners. You’re using manners.” Sebastian kissed him. Kissed him so sweetly it made Ciel’s heart clench. Then he pressed - _forced_ \- the tip of his finger into Ciel, right up to the knuckle. Dry. Ciel shrieked. Sebastian’s arms went tense as he jerked at the noise, pressing his nose into Ciel’s hair like a worried dog.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry sweetheart.” He waxed lyrical on his apology but kept his finger buried in him, an inch deep. “Does it hurt?” Looked at him like he _really cared_ but he didn’t take it out. Ciel’s heart was dead in his chest. He could hear a wet, desperate sound and he realised that his mouth was moving and it was him. Sobbing. From one finger shoved up his ass, like a... huh. Ciel swallowed.

Like a whore.

Like a whore, because _yeah_ it hurt, but _god_ he loved it. Loved that it stung. Loved that Sebastian’s finger was thick even around the first knuckle. Loved that the priest’s heart hammered against his ear and he could feel his pulse on his cheek and inside of him. Sebastian was impossibly hard under him. He could feel the painful line of his zipper up against his underbelly, felt it throb and beg for Ciel’s attention but the teenager couldn’t move, could only back himself up closer to Sebastian’s hand and sink himself down further, making sounds that were inhuman.

“Ciel?” Sebastian’s free hand kept pushing back Ciel’s hair, falling loose and wild around his face and sticking to his wet mouth, hot cheeks. He cleared away his fringe and sighed, looked at his boy with lust-black and lidded eyes. Ciel’s heart skipped because he didn’t look like Bastian anymore. He looked like a beast. He loved him so much he felt sick with it.

“You can’t even speak,” Sebastian mumbled. His finger slipped out and Ciel moaned. He dipped it back in and Ciel sat down on it, tried not to cry like a virgin. It burned. Ciel clenched down on the end and Sebastian’s eyes widened. He took Sebastian’s thick wrist, bought it out from between his legs with a hiss and then up to his teeth. Ciel sucked the taste of himself right off the priest’s fourth finger, lathered it with his spit with his eyes closed. He wriggled out of his trousers, let them bunch around his thighs so Sebastian could grip his thigh with his other, trembling hand.

Ciel breathed out as he let go of the finger he sucked on and looked the man he loved right in the eye. Sebastian’s cheeks were bright, eyebrows draw. He hugged his ass with one hand, biceps under Ciel’s arm jumped as he put his hand between Ciel’s thighs and touched him again. It made the teenager’s spine curl, the wet brush of his fingertip against his hole. When the priest dipped it in he took it so easily he wept.

Sebastian’s pupils bled. His breath came thin. He pressed in too fast. Didn’t know how sensitive it felt, how it punched the air right out of Ciel when he pressed in to the hilt of his palm. Ciel knew his mouth was wet, couldn’t close it. He huffed when the priest wiped his chin, messy. Shoved his crooked thumb past his lips and Ciel nudged it with his tongue again like second-nature.

“You’re drooling.” Sebastian dipped his finger into him, and out. Back in. Crooked it a little and Ciel’s eyes were wet like he was crying. “From my finger,” the priest swallowed loudly. “Wonder what you’d do if I put something else in you?"

“What would you put in me?”

Sebastian blushed, like he didn’t have his finger in Ciel.

“ _Tell me_.”

“This.” The priest pushed his hand down. Pushed it over his cock, into it’s rightful place. Ciel tugged open his pants. Sebastian burnt up beneath him.

“Your dick?”

Sebastian shook. He grabbed it out, gave it a lazy stroke. Impressive, given the lobotomy the priest was giving him with his narrow finger.

“Yeah.”

“You wanna fuck me with it?”

Sebastian shivered, grabbed his thickness through the linen of his trousers and shook again, nose bumping Ciel’s cheek.

“Yeah,” he groaned, second finger nudging the skin around his first, stretched tight around the knuckle. His eyelashes flicked against Ciel’s throat, mouth a hard line. Ciel was melting. Shaking. When he eased the end of his middle finger up against the first, dipped into him with the same lack-of-finesse he did the first, Ciel’s back curled, his mouth loosened and he shouted.

“Fuck! Bastian, _fuck!_ ” He held so tight to the priest that blood welled under his nails, and he came with his hair stuck to his face, up against Sebastian’s pristine, buttoned chest. His wrist faltered but didn’t stop. He hugged the end of Sebastian’s well-endowed neediness, let him breathe right down into his mouth and babble until the priest came too. He made a sound Ciel could live off, fed into his ear like a deep, breathy secret.

And later, when their breath finally died down and their clothes were shed, and naked bodies pressed down into soap-scented sheets, Ciel waited for something bad to happen.

It was too perfect. The bed. The arms and the chest against his back. The smell of food. His full belly. Satisfied heart. The full sky of glittering stars and the glow of the city yonder. The night triggered something hopeful, something scarily close to anxiety but not as cold. He waited. Stared at the night for the inevitable dread to come creeping back, for something to happen that would rip him from this safe, warm spot.

But nothing did. The stars twinkled. Sebastian snored. Ciel fell asleep under the sheets, naked with the man he loved more than anything that had come before.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos! You don't even need an account! Just smash that little red heart and I'll love you forever!!


	17. Dix-Sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Pia.

The baby-faced teenager lingered in the doorframe.

Sixteen years old and broke. Desperate. Eyes trained on the back of his guardian’s head as he lowly admitted that he couldn’t afford rent on his one-roomed, lofty apartment. He could still recall the way Adrian’s shoulders bristled - the beginning of what would come to be the greatest mistake of his life. 

Even in his sleep, Ciel’s skin prickled.

The undertaker was working on a corpse. Ciel’s eyes didn’t stray down to it, could see it’s pale line in his peripheral and smell it’s miasma in the dim morgue. Adrian exhaled. He didn’t turn his head, as if he’d expected Ciel to come crawling back to him, broke and remorseful. Ciel’s breath hitched as his guardian, his only family, told him to find a way to pay him - or sleep out in the snow that night.

And that’s when Ciel opened his mouth and said the unforgivable words.

They were out before he could rethink them. Ciel’s cheeks burnt at the sound of them. His heart went morbidly hard in his chest. His guardian dropped the brush he'd been holding onto the crooked floorboards. It clattered and rolled away, past the shoes of the man who gave Ciel a murderous glare. He finally took his attention off the corpse and locked his eyes onto his ward. His _child_.

“What did you say?”

Ciel swallowed. His heart flickered to action in sluggish, heavy thumps. He pushed himself against the cool wood of the funeral home walls and lowered his chin. Took a breath. Closed his eye.

“I said,” Ciel wet his lips. “I said... I'll let you fuck me.”

Adrian made a noise. His fists clenched in Ciel's line of vision and his shoes creaked on the splintered floor. The shiny brogues appeared across from Ciel's boots and the teenager's gut coiled in dreaded anticipation. The undertaker struck him, hit him so hard he screamed out, hand nursing the white-hot slap across his cheek. The dreaming boy’s brow twitched.

“Adrian!” Ciel had screamed, backed up into the corner and watching the most intense look of hatred take over his guardian's features. He’d grabbed Ciel's arms, coiled his lip like it disgusted him to touch the teenager and shoved him so hard against the wall that the breath punched right out of his lungs. His rage tattooed itself into Ciel’s memory, and the sleeping boy flinched again at the revival.

“You are fucking disgusting,” Adrian grit. Ciel kept his head down, cheek stinging. He knew. “I _raised_ you Ciel, you're practically my son.” His hands clenched on skinny forearms. Ciel pressed his lips into a hard line. He dug himself deeper into his own grave.

“ _Practically_ ,” the sixteen-year-old muttered. Adrian hit him again. And again. Hard enough to make him cry, and his clipped, chin-length hair stick to his burning cheeks. He grabbed Ciel's jaw and squeezed it so hard that the teenager's knees buckled and he reached out to cling at his guardian's robes. He didn't scream again. He let the undertaker shove him, smack his head into the wall and bruise his arms until the anger left. Until he realised Ciel wasn't going to fight back.

He never fought back.

And when Adrian finally let go, when he returned his shaking hands to his sides, Ciel hit him with a look. _The_ look. The one reserved for strange men in dim bars, and hungry gentlemen with thick wallets. The one he should have recoiled at giving to his guardian of ten years. The one that made Adrian's eyes dark, his throat bob and his fists coil tighter. Blood dripped down Ciel’s nose and onto his nervous, pouted mouth.

“Stop,” Adrian had mumbled. Ciel never forgot how he said it. How he sounded weak, on his last nerve. _Stop_. But Ciel hadn't stopped. He remembered that - with startling clarity. _It was his fault._ His guardian drew a line and Ciel crossed it. Trod all over it. Chewed his lip and turned, pressed his belly against the wall and curled out his back in pure disrespect for the word _stop_. It wasn’t in his naive vocabulary.

Adrian snapped at that. Crushed his larger chest into Ciel’s spine – kept him pinned to the wall while his hands un-lovingly yanked his pants and underwear down in one go. A button hit the floor. _Clack_. Ciel’s thighs pricked with goosebumps. It was snowing outside, and Adrian's hands were like ice. He took the undertaker's wrists and slipped them over his belly, down his stomach and between his parted thighs. Hot. _Good_.

“Please,” Ciel mumbled. He felt the undertaker breathe nervously against the back of his neck and his cheeks flushed with shame. He was claiming his guardian's virginity. _Knew it_. Had fucked enough men to know who'd done it before and who hadn't. As Adrian's fingers hooked him between the legs, snared at his skin with an inelegant roughness, Ciel knew he was the first thing to be pulled apart by those fingers.

The first _living_ thing. 

The noise he made was so eager he embarrassed himself.

“ _Touch me_ ,” Ciel begged again. Two shaking hands held his flawless hips. Two trembling lips pressed into the back of his neck. Dry. Adrian’s tongue wet his own mouth, slipped over the back of Ciel's spine and the teenager shut his eye – gasped at the sound of a zipper and an inhale and then –

Pain. Familiar pain. Dry, stinging pain. Ciel wanted to vomit. He pressed his tears into the wall and didn't yelp. He pushed back down onto it, ignoring how his thighs flinched under his guardian's hand and his body _screamed_ when he bucked into him without preparation, wet mouth still open on the back of his neck. He was speaking. Mumbling. Words Ciel couldn't decipher but he sounded so violently upset with him, angry. Like he hated fucking him.

“Adrian.” Ciel inhaled when his fingers grazed his belly, pushed himself fully into the boy. His middle finger dipped into his belly-button and the other grazed his ribs. “Adrian, Adrian p- _please_.”

He didn't listen. He rut into him with all the finesse and grace of a caged bull. Ciel's hipbones smacked into the splintered wall. Bruises bled. He bit his tongue. He stuck his back out, ran his mouth. His cheeks darkened from the mortification of being in the worst pain of his life and being hard at the same time. _What's wrong with me, what's w-wrong. What._ The thought was fucked out of him. He kept crying out his name, nails scraping on the wall. “Adrian, _god_.”

“Shut up,” came the familiar, comforting voice from behind. Even in his dream Ciel could remember how it sounded. The voice that made Ciel relax, even when Adrian's large hand wrapped around his little neck and squeezed harder than he'd ever dared to in the past. It made his words die. It made his heart skip a beat. It made his gut coil in a sickly erotic way like he was about to-

Blood. Torn sheets. Ciel's spit on the mattress and his knees scraped and bloody. The words _I hate you_ bitten permanently into the back of his neck, teeth digging in so hard Ciel screamed, and screamed, and screamed. 

Not for Adrian, but for _Sebastian_. 

Ciel couldn't breath. He was scared. In pain. It wasn't the morgue, he was in his bed. He could smell his own skin on the pillow he cried into. He could taste iron on his tongue, his lip fat from his first kiss. Bile in his throat and blood on the back of his legs. Adrian so deep down inside him that he felt possessed. He screamed until he suffocated himself. Tried to punch. Tried to kick Adrian off of him, claw at him. His nails dug into the skin of his arm and he clenched his fingers _hard_ , made him bleed the same way he was bleeding until-

“Stop!” 

The voice was so sweet. It didn't match the cold lips on his back. Suddenly the pillow under his mouth felt like skin and nothing was pinning him down. He was warm. His mouth tasted like spit and nothing else.

“Ciel, _stop!_ It’s me.” Heavy breathing. A quick inhale of pain that didn’t come from his mouth.

Not Adrian. 

Dawn. 

Light. 

Sebastian's eyes the colour of dried blood. His arms bright with the red of _fresh_ blood.

Ciel lifted his head, fingers still buried down into the innocent flesh of the priest's pretty, pale forearms. His face crumpled and Sebastian curled around him quicker than his guilt could. The priest’s body was so large that Ciel was engulfed in a moment, his heart sick as two perfect arms held his back and a hard thigh pressed tenderly between his legs. Sebastian squeezed him so hard his trembling stopped.

“Bastian?” Ciel had his nose pressed to his neck and he smelt like leather and bedsheets, and something else that removed the knots from the boy's shoulders and made him almost purr into his skin. A large hand cupped the back of his head. The priest's chest rumbled _yes_. Ciel shut both his eyes and breathed out, swallowing all his tears down with his terror. Suppressed.

“I ‘ad a nightmare.” 

Sebastian nodded. He played with the back of Ciel's hair in a way that made the boy's eyes droop.

“You have them a lot,” he said, as if it were nothing. His racing heart told another story. “You don't always wake up. I wasn't sure if I should but, your nails…”

Ciel sat up to force himself to look at the carnage. His fingernails were streaked with blood, his breath hitched at the half-moon wounds dug into the other’s skin. Sebastian watched him calmly, chest rising and falling like the ocean. His back was flat against the sheets. The human train-wreck sat on his chest, falling apart in his tender, bleeding arms.

“I am so sorry, I am, I’m s- _so_ ,” he stopped. He pressed his eyes shut so hard the tears were forced out under his eyelashes. They touched Sebastian’s stomach with fat _plips_.

“I can’t even feel it,” Sebastian lied. His broad hands rubbed Ciel’s flanks, smiled up at the boy in his lap and gave him the smallest squeeze. “Your claws feel like nothing to me.”

Sebastian’s face was raw with consideration and Ciel’s shoulders sagged at the sugar-coated truth. “I didn’t mean to ‘urt you.”

“I know,” Sebastian breathed out. He combed back a lock of Ciel’s hair and pressed his lips together. “It’s been almost two weeks, Ciel.” A heavy breath. “And you haven’t said anything about-”

“Two weeks?” Ciel cut him off. The man beneath him sighed, his hands firm on either side of his waist. Like he might evaporate completely. Ciel let his head rest back onto his shoulders, his hair brushed between his bare shoulder-blades. A gentle breeze prickled pleasant goosebumps off his arms and stomach, chased away by the loving thumbs of the man he sat on. He heard Sebastian’s hair shift as he nodded against the bed.

“Yes. Since it all happened,” he whispered. Ciel felt the words vibrate on the inside of his thighs.

“There's nothing to tell.”

The sound of Sebastian’s disappointed sigh broke the fragile mood, and Ciel’s body moved to snatch the cigarettes perched on the windowsill. Still seated in Sebastian’s lap he lit a smoke and inhaled, artificial happiness stitching together the edges of his aching soul. Despite his somber stare, the priest rubbed loving circles into his hips as he smoked. He was relentlessly forgiving.

“It was really nothing,” Ciel whispered, smoke leaving his mouth alongside the lie. He stared at the wall above Sebastian’s head. “Nothing that ‘asn’t ‘appened to me before.”

The thumbs on his hips went still, pressed down. Ciel lowered his lashes to see Sebastian staring at his stomach, eyes glassy and glaring right through him.

"It's driving me insane, knowing he's out there. Walking free.” Didn’t say it to Ciel. He spoke the words right through the cavity he was glaring into Ciel’s abdomen. Ciel felt Sebastian’s ribs stiffen under his thighs as he moved to sit up. The teenager pinned him back down again, one hand splayed on his naked chest and the other drawing in another breath of smoke.

“You can't ‘elp yourself. You just get angry. It’s why I never tell you anything…” 

Under his hand he could feel how quickly Sebastian’s pulse pricked, and his own mouth went dry as the man’s throat bobbed. He looked _good_ angry. Ciel swallowed.

The priest breathed out and Ciel’s hips rode the swell of his stomach, felt his palms shift against his skin and evoke raised hairs in their path. He was quiet for a time, just holding Ciel down onto his body as the boy smoked, still staring at the dip of his belly-button like the Parisian wasn’t even there. Eventually he breathed out, raised his ebony eyelashes and gave a short, curt nod.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Clipped. Like he meant it but had more to say. He exhaled like he was in agony, blind-sided by his own rage. His eyebrows met in the middle and knitted, eyes practically swum with unresolved questions brewing beyond rust-coloured eyes.

Ciel crooked his wrist, took another draw of his smoke and nudged the side of the priest’s jaw, made him tip back his head and break the death stare he had locked on Ciel’s belly. The older man breathed like he was startled, looking up at the Parisian on him and waited. Patient. Handsome as hell. Ciel quirked up the edges of his mouth in the coyest smile he could manage and the tension seeped slowly out of Sebastian’s stiff shoulders. The hands on his hips went back to rubbing cool, calm circles into him. Ciel reached the last breaths of his cigarette. He bent down and offered it to the priest.

“Do you want some?”

Sebastian didn’t blink. He flicked his eyes down to the smouldering tobacco and then back up at Ciel. He shook his head, an amused expression flirting with his features.

“I don’t smoke.”

Ciel laughed at the blatant lie. He pushed his hips back a little, nudged them backwards until the priest’s thumbs dipped into the hem of his sleep shorts and a hitched, nervous breath came out of both of them. Ciel’s hair fell forward and tickled his shoulders, his chest. It was getting too long. The boy bent and pressed a chaste, smoky kiss to the priest’s shaved jaw.

“You don’t smoke,” he echoed back. “Just like you don’t drink, and don’t _fuck_.” Sebastian groaned, his fingers curling around to finally grab at the soft flesh of Ciel’s thighs. His heart was quick under Ciel’s chest. Excited. Honest. The Parisian couldn’t stop smiling.

“Do you want me to be a good man?” Sebastian grunted. He took one hand off Ciel’s hips and put it into his hair, used it to keep him tugged down so he could kiss the side of his mouth. Ciel sighed, and Sebastian turned his jaw and kissed him again. Slower. Filthier. Their lips smacked, the older man’s tongue rolled briefly over the end of Ciel’s and they broke apart with a wet noise. Ciel shook his head.

“No. I want you to be ‘appy.”

Sebastian let go of his hair to finally take the cigarette, sticking it between his lips as he sucked the last embers from the end. He didn’t cough, just like he didn’t blush at the dirty way Ciel backed his thighs up over his narrow hips. The priest fluttered his dark eyelashes as his hand went further back, grabbed a fistful of Ciel’s ass and squeezed.

“I’ll be happy when Adrian is gone.” And with one quick move he smothered the cigarette into the copper dish on the sill and flipped Ciel over onto his back. He took his mouth and kissed him rough, hand tight around the back of his neck. When he dipped his tongue back into Ciel’s mouth he let him know the conversation was over - but he hadn’t forgotten what had happened.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian was supposed to be in church.

The sun was already cutting across the rooftops of dilapidated buildings, shining down on a neighbourhood he hadn’t been to for weeks. He could practically smell his blood in the centre of the square, on the footstep of the undertaker’s building across the empty way. The priest kept to the mouth of the alleyway, jacket the same colour as the shadow that touched his face. The same colour as his heart.

Black.

It’s all he felt. Sebastian’s heart flooded inky rage out into his limbs as he squeezed his fists by his side. The building was dark, lonely even as the sunlight came up and touched the funeral home. Ciel’s apartment sat untouched. The ivy crept up in his absence, flirting with the murky glass of the big window that looked out onto the square. The reflection was as dark as the priest’s mood. The door locked. It’s soul gone. 

Sebastian shifted his arm over his jacket sleeve. The crescent moon shaped cuts that dotted his forearms spurred him. Made him shake. He pressed down on them to feel their sting, to remember the sound Ciel made in his sleep before he’d woken - skin ashen and terrified. He squeezed his own arms like he’d wring Adrian’s neck. Snap it, if he could. Tensed his fingers over the little wounds like he’d squeeze the trigger of a gun, aimed right between two cruel, chartreuse eyes.

He really was supposed to be in church.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Mass was over and done with by the time he got there.

The church was empty. Stray Bibles sat in the places of the patrons he had missed. The doors were open wide to welcome the brisk breeze that cast out the scent of humans. Sebastian slipped in like the air, eyes down at the floor as he walked right by the older priest, jaw locked.

“Don’t,” Sebastian muttered when Claude caught sight of him. The older priest fell into step behind him, arms folded behind his back in the way that screamed displeasure. That he had the upper hand. That Sebastian was on his last leg. The younger priest’s mood darkened impossibly further.

“You are over two hours late.” Sebastian had nothing clever to say, stopping in the centre of the pews and casting a look down at the ends of his shoes. His jaw tensed and his head dropped. With no reasonable excuse other than blind anger, he bit his tongue. Claude huffed.

“This is unacceptable.” His voice trembled as it raised. Sebastian watched the morning light shift over the cold, grey floor. He hadn’t even the grace to nod.

“I could remove you from this church,” Claude threatened, voice raised. Sebastian coiled his fingers up into a fist but didn’t speak. He heard the trees outside whisper, and he heard it when Claude swallowed.

“You’d have no choice but to go home. I wonder what Ciel would do-”

“Don’t say his name.” Sebastian glanced up at that. His fist was so tight he dug nail-shaped wounds into his own hand, ones to match the cuts Ciel left on him hours earlier. _Ciel_. His heart sighed. Claude’s mouth moved up into a faint, cruel smile and his head tilted to the side. Calculating. 

“I’ll say what I want.” Claude retorted very slowly. Testing the waters. His eyes lit up in a way that mirrored his astonishment as Sebastian’s placidity. Like he’d caught a wild animal in a trap which was now at his mercy. Sebastian glared at him the same way a caged beast would.

“If you don’t fall back into line I can remove you. I will send you back home. And I will call that cheap _whore_ anything I want.”

Sebastian dropped his head and thought of how Ciel’s skin smelt after he bathed. The way he frowned as he read. How his lips tasted like honeyed tea and sweet blood. He nodded, eyes glassy.

“I understand,” he said lowly. “I apologise for being late.”

He didn’t catch Claude’s expression but in his peripheral he saw the man stand straighter. Sebastian’s stomach coiled with contempt.

“Good.” Quick and clipped. Hands clasped at the front to signify he’d won. “You can take the confessional today, Sebastian. I don’t want to see your face anymore.”

His hand waved flippantly between them like the air wasn’t thick with hate. Claude turned in smug victory and when he finally left Sebastian unfurled his hands and saw the pink blotches in the centre of his palm.

He wiped his hands on his robes but they didn’t stop shaking.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian knew enough French to find Paris’s confessions both boring _and_ disgusting.

His vocabulary grew each day he spent in the confessional, the punishment spanning the length of an entire week. Although it was starting to become warm and pleasant outside, the confessional was always cold, and dark. Filled wall to wall with whispered secrets, and Sebastian’s dull, repetitive commands on how to rectify the patron’s sins.

Each day he wondered more and more why he had _ever_ listened to his father.

In the dark it was easy to imagine home. He was sick for it. The smell of flowers and horses, and freshly cut wood and smoked meat. His father left the ranch in his will - left it under Sebastian’s name so he could run back home with his tail between his legs, like he’d always assumed he would.

The only thing that kept him sane was the feel of Ciel’s flesh under his fingers, and the deep, comforting fact that the boy was unabashedly in love with him. He knew it when their lips met. Could feel it in his heart when their chests pressed together and he took pleasure from his body.

His fantasy was shattered with the creak and click of the confessional door opening, and another sinner slipping into place beside him. He cleared his throat to let them know someone was listening, but his mind easily wondered back to Ciel’s eyes. His hair. The way his voice sounded-

“Forgive me, I’ve sinned.”

The tension bled right from his shoulders at the words. The clipped, heavily accented words. The words uttered in the prettiest English he’d ever heard in all the thirty years he’d been alive. Sebastian’s heart blossomed back to life. He slipped closer to the iron lattice-work between himself and the sinner, and saw a shadow move on the other side.

“What did you do?” The priest whispered, using his professional voice. There was a little laugh, the shift of fabric and suddenly a nose appeared close to the barrier, and the glint of a dark, blue eye.

“What did _I_ do?” Another handsome laugh. “More like what did _you_ do. This morning you were possessed. You bit me, Sebastian.” As the light adjusted the man saw a pale hand rub at the spot where Ciel’s throat would be and he had the decency to blush.

“I’m sorry.”

“You are a liar.” Ciel said it lovingly. His nose bumped against the iron-work and Sebastian unclipped the barrier, slid it across so they could meet. Their eyelashes kissed but nothing else. “You should swap sides with me. You should confess, to _me_.”

It was Sebastian’s turn to laugh. He reached through the window and cupped the back of Ciel’s head, felt the hood draped over his hair - pulled back into a ponytail. He wrapped his fist once around it and tugged, only enough to make the teenager’s lips part. When they kissed Sebastian groaned. It was Ciel who broke away first, breath hitched excitedly.

“Come ‘ome,” he begged in a thick, dulcet voice. Sebastian ached to obey but he was trapped in the wood and iron coffin. Ciel’s mouth was a taunting, red promise. He kissed it again and sighed right up against his tongue.

“I can’t. Not yet.” He pressed his mouth quicker to Ciel’s, hugged his face close to his maw so he could breath him in. It hurt to break apart, his heart beating so quickly that the cold confessional became balmy. Sweat prickled under his clerical collar.

“ _Bastian_.” Ciel purred his name so low that the priest’s hips jerked up in Pavlovian response. He shut his eyes and struggled to control himself.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Ciel admitted with words that stuck to his tongue. “I need it. I need it _so badly_. Come ‘ome and fuck me. _Please_.”

Manners. He was desperate, if his panting hadn’t been signal enough.

“You know I can’t do that.” He exhaled, tried to shake the trembling from his limbs. “We spoke about it, I’d hurt you sweetheart. We can’t. Not yet.” He repeated it like a script. It sounded stupid to say when he was half-hard in his pants from only _kissing_.

Ciel practically sobbed. His hands reached through to Sebastian’s side of the confessional and clung to his jacket, mouth finding his in the dark. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a hungry suck. Sebastian pressed his body to the wall of the confessional and shuddered into his hot, damp, tea-flavoured mouth.

“It’s been so long for me,” Ciel whispered. “It’s been weeks since I ‘ad it. A month.” The noise of him made Sebastian ache. He could smell Ciel’s lust through the varnished wood and closed his eyes again, imagined how good it would feel to give in to everything the boy begged for and fuck him.

“Will you leave me, if I don’t do it?” Sebastian whispered, voice rough. It was so warm in the little room now. Ciel made a noise stuck halfway between a laugh and a cry.

“No! Never, what the fuck. _Never_ , Bastian.” When he opened his eyes he could see Ciel looking down on him, jaw tense with discomfort. Hurt. He forced him down onto his mouth and kissed all the misery right off him.

“I can wait. I can satisfy myself, Bastian. I can f-fuck myself down on my fingers.” He stammered out the words, petite body pressed just as tightly to the wood as Sebastian’s. He could feel his body heat through the grain. Sebastian allowed his nose to press into the boy’s temple and breath it in, lips brushing over the stone pierced into Ciel’s ear.

“Don’t you want my fingers?”

Ciel _moaned_. The noise made everything else seem quiet. The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. Sebastian had effectively quelled him and he pressed his tongue to his teeth in silent satisfaction.

“Your fingers feel better than any man that ever ‘ad me.”

Sebastian grunted. “Don’t lie to me.”

When Ciel drew back his eyes were as dark as his mouth, eyelashes lidded and eyebrow draw down into a vulnerable, seductive expression that made the priest sick with jealousy at the thought that other men might have glimpsed _this_.

“Feels good because it’s you, Bastian. Feels better than anything I ever ‘ad, I’m not lying.” And when he stopped speaking Sebastian realised no one had ever seen that expression before, because it was the face Ciel made when he was deeply, deeply in love.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The rain decided to fall the moment Sebastian left the church.

It had built up all morning. Manifested. The sky was purple with it. Clouds undulating like Paris was a sunken city and the sky was a rolling ocean overhead. Thunder rumbled and angry darts of rain hit the bridge of Sebastian’s nose as he rushed down the church steps and pulled his jacket up over his combed hair.

It was violent by the time he reached the apartment.

His jacket soaked through, hair plastered to his brow and cheeks, Sebastian slipped his key into place and sighed as the warmth of the dim barn welcomed him. The crack of a tame fire lulled him up the stairs, jacket tossed over the back of the kitchen chair so he stood in black trousers, a black waistcoat and a shirt so wet it clung to him like a second skin. The priest exhaled.

And then there was the sound of water moving, not outside but from the bathtub, and Sebastian stopped breathing completely. 

Ciel had a nasty habit of making everything look like sin.

His mouth. His hands. His heavy, lidded eyes - one glassy and one deep. His milky skin, free of blemish for the first time since they’d met. His endless legs. His narrow wrists, bent to suckle smoke from his smouldering cigarette. His nipples - same colour as his bitten, fat mouth.

The boy sunk deeper into the bathtub when the priest walked into the room. His hair was wet like his own, clinging to his skin and the top of the water like oil. His spare hand lingered on the lip of the porcelain bath, his knees peaked from the surface like pale, faintly-scarred islands. 

Without his eyepatch the full force of his unrelenting, terrifying stare was on Sebastian. It rendered him action-less. Pathetic. He stood in the mouth of the apartment and stared at the mermaid in the centre of the room, smoking slowly in the hot water. Thunder rumbled overhead.

“Look at you,” the priest muttered dumbly. Barely audible over the rain. Ciel smiled at him, not moving to cover himself as the older man came closer, staring down at his naked figure in the bath. His face was just shy of being shy. Deliberately demure. His thighs were pressed together, toes against the floor of the bath. He let his head fall back, rest of the back of the bath and his hair swum where the water touched his neck. 

A deity.

“I missed you,” Ciel whispered. His free hand slipped from the edge of the tub and sunk under the dark surface. Sebastian watched in mild horror as the teenager’s fingers trailed down the centre of his submerged stomach and disappeared between his legs. His mouth fell open, his back curled and he gasped, almost losing his smoke to the disturbed water. His eyebrows pushed together like he were in pain. “ _Bastian_.”

“Asked you not to smoke in here,” Sebastian said dumbly. He wasn’t really paying attention, didn’t really care about the cigarette but Ciel’s body was so distracting it was all he could do to stop himself from combusting upon sight of it. 

He leaned down, got his arms under Ciel’s thin, wet body and pulled him up from the bath, pressing a hard and hungry kiss onto his soaked lips. He shuddered. Kept his mouth shut, kept one hand dug into the flesh of Ciel’s lily hip and the other coiled into the back of his inky hair. When he let go of him, when he let him slip back down into the bath water with a splash, the front of his waistcoat was damp.

“I’m hungry,” Ciel muttered, in French. 

Sebastian shuddered. He hoped Heaven had turned a blind eye because he was about to do something horrible. He knew - from how Ciel’s lips curled devilishly. The boy had been more than patient. Sebastian had restrained himself to the point of torment.

“Hungry?” He repeated back to Ciel.

“Yeah, _Dieu_. I’m ‘ungry.” 

The boy chewed his lip like a man starved, his pretty face dark with blush, bath water sloshing as he sat up on his knees and keened. Like he’d _die_ without it. The priest stood at the bath like a man convicted to the gallows. Ciel was the noose. The teenager’s breath hitched as his nose bumped into the front of Sebastian’s trousers and a warm hand found the side of his face.

“I think about this,” Ciel mumbled. _This_. Something they had never done before. Something the priest could hardly entertain the fantasy of lest his heart gave out. Ciel pressed closer, hot breath on the priest’s clothed crotch. Flicked his eyes up to the other and groaned. “All the time.”

Ciel tilted his head and flattened his little tongue against the hitch in his pants, kept his eyes on the priest’s as he dragged it up against his swollen flesh. Sebastian almost crushed his head between his hands.

“Take it out for me?” Ciel whispered. His fat bottom lip sat on the dark of Sebastian’s trousers, rivulet of water running down his upturned nose. Sebastian’s mind blanked. His thumb traced an unintentionally rough line over the rise of Ciel’s cheekbone. That little nose bumped forward again, eyes closed and he smelt him, filthy noise escaping between grit teeth. Sebastian was going to _die_.

When he pulled back his pupil was blown black, cheeks dark. His little hands lingered on Sebastian’s thighs, could no doubt feel the corded muscle jump under his palms but the older man made no notion to move. Ciel pleaded, eyelashes thick with water, hands pushing up to splay over virgin hips and thumbs dug into the space between them.

“Please,” he whispered again - and that was the moment Sebastian lost it. The tether between good reason and animalistic need snapped. His hand still shook as he undid the front of his pants but as soon as the button came loose Ciel’s hands were on him, parting the fabric to pull his hard flesh from his trousers and fix his other-worldly, mismatched focus upon it.

Then his red, wet lips were open, and his fingers were around him, and Sebastian watched in aroused terror as the end of his dick slid into the mouth of the prettiest boy in Paris. He exhaled, like all the air had been punched out of him, and hunched forward to grab the back of Ciel’s damp, long hair.

He didn’t doubt for a second that Ciel was once a professional at this.

“Does that feel good?” Ciel whispered, pulling off his length with a wet noise that made Sebastian’s heart skip. He smiled coyly, watched him through his thick eyelashes like a devil. The priest had nothing intelligent to say or do except shoving the end of his cock back between his cherry lips. Ciel laughed and it made the priest readjust his handful of hair. He pulled. The boy’s mouth hummed around him in glee.

Then the Parisian flicked his eyes back up, suddenly glassy and determined, and took him so far back that Sebastian pulled his hair in fear, eyes widening as Ciel sunk down on his length. A hot, damp hug around the thick of him, jaw relaxed like it was _nothing_ to swallow. Ciel made a soft, hiccuping moan as he stared up at him and Sebastian finally broke.

“Fuck, Ciel.”

Ciel gagged in shock. Pulled back, mouth as shiny as his eyes as his little nails dug into the tops of Sebastian’s thighs and he stared up at the priest, eyes wide and chest heaving. Spit rolled down to sit on his chin, body drawn forward so close that when Sebastian glanced down his naked, tattooed back he could see Ciel’s ass sitting on the surface of the water. His mouth opened to speak, fat and trembling, but he had nothing. Something satisfying curled down in the depths of the older man and he nudged Ciel back a little to see him painfully hard and desperate. The boy whined instead of speaking, resettling on his folded legs to lean in for another taste. Sebastian yanked him from the water and kissed him instead.

“I love you,” he murmured quickly onto his mouth, dropping his jaw and licking off the spit and trace of himself from the boy’s lips and chin and neck. “I love you so much.” His dick pressed into Ciel’s wet stomach, boy’s breath hitching as he struggled up on his knees, legs slipping out from under him. The priest followed him down, stepped into the bath fully clothed so he could kneel down above Ciel and press his back down over the cold porcelain rim.

And when Ciel looked up at him like pinned prey, neck submissive and eyelashes lowered, the priest bit his throat so hard the teenager _screamed_.

“Fuck! Fuck you!” Ciel squealed, finally spurring to life as the older man released him. He didn’t flinched when Ciel slapped him, when he called him a _dog_. Didn’t miss the way Ciel’s stomach flinched, his cheeks grew darker and his eye unfocused. When he kissed him he didn’t protest, his slender hands tugging Sebastian down closer by his soaked waistcoat with an inspired passion, cheek still burning from the slap.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” Sebastian shuddered when they parted. Ciel sighed, slipping down into the bath water as the priest came up higher, let the tip of his cock brush up under the younger’s blushing maw. Ciel opened his mouth, let his head go lax in the cradle of Sebastian’s palm and stared him right in the eye as the priest pushed himself onto his tongue. The boy sighed and hollowed his cheeks, didn’t break the terrifying glance as he took him back as far as he could, mouth stretched around the width of him. When he pulled back, broke contact with a smack of his lips, he narrowed his eyes and smiled cruelly.

“You’re one to talk,” Ciel muttered, voice raspy. Sebastian twitched. Throbbed. Slid his hand from the back of his head down to his pretty face and pushed himself back into his mouth, a satisfied grunt as the Parisian swallowed him down, impetuous eyes complimenting the hungry way he swallowed him down in his throat.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian came apart with a sound that made Ciel’s heart stop.

He looked at Ciel like he was an angel, mouth stretched around his cock as he held the back of his head like an object, fingers trembling as his hips stuttered and stopped Ciel from breathing. His tiny nails dug fresh wounds into the man’s thighs, his own hips undulated under the water, desperate for anything. Sebastian was thoughtless and primal, like he didn’t mean to stuff it so far down the back of his throat but he couldn’t help it.

And then, with his knees pressed into the bath and Ciel’s thighs flanking either side of his hips, he dipped two fingers into him like his body was designed to take anything he could give, and fucked the boy so rough that he begun to cry.

His tears burnt his cheeks. Rolled down his neck and into the bath. Joined his floating hair and his shaking fingers, and his writhing, undulating body. He was powerless to stop them, his brain at a loss. Nothing intelligent existed in him anymore. He was at mercy to the hard, practiced way the priest crooked his fingers and forced a desperate, high-pitched sound out of him with every fuck. The ceiling blurred as he cried, and cried. And begged for it harder, and deeper, and-

“Please fuck me, please.” He wasn’t sure he said it, but Sebastian’s shoulders went tight and he crowded impossibly closer, mouth wet on Ciel’s brow. His free hand slid from under Ciel’s back to go between his legs and grab his interested, stiff cock smothered under damp trousers. He groaned, fingers pressing so deep the both of them shook. The Parisian drew red welts down his biceps and up the nape of his neck.

“ _No_.” His voice trembled when he said it. Ciel was still crying, shifting his hips back to sit himself down on the fingers. In his lust-induced mind he was aware of being on the precipice of something dangerous.

“P-please. I need it, please.” His lips moved without permission. He tugged Sebastian’s head down and kissed him, wound his arms around his neck and hugged him closer with the flanks of his thighs. The priest kissed him hard, timed it with a rough dip of his fingers and he pulled back, staring at Ciel with undecipherable, warm eyes.

“Shut up,” he muttered. Ciel shut his eyes. A nose touched his hair, lips shaking. His fingers didn’t slow, rolled down to a languid pace so they slipped in and out of Ciel with patient, euphonious thrusts. When he spoke again it was so low, all around him. Echoed in the walls of the bath.

“If I fucked you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” He said it into Ciel’s ear and bit the lobe, gently. Spread his fingers. Crooked them and Ciel arched his back up and tore at the back of his clothes. “I’d hurt you, because I want it worse than you do. Even your mouth. I couldn’t stand your mouth. I wanted you to choke on it, sweetheart.”

And Ciel came at that, his orgasm taking him by surprise the same way the priest’s words did. His gut coiled. His one good eye rolled back into his skull. He struggled to find purchase on the sides of the slick, wrecked bath but he slipped, head falling under the water as he quivered, drowning in pleasure and in the bath water.

…………………………………………………………………………… 

 

Ciel was reluctant to admit it - but he liked being a dish-hand.

It wasn’t glamorous but he came home each night with a stiffness in his limbs that wasn’t put there by another man. He slept easily. He earned almost double as he did as a whore. He worked in a warm, well-lit room with people he was not afraid to turn his back on.

But the best part was the leftovers.

Ciel broke the little pastry up into fractured pieces, ignoring the annoyed look on Bard’s face. The lemon tart was expensive, and not designed to be crumbled up into careless flakes and shovelled into Ciel’s mouth. It tasted better than anything he’d ever had before but he didn’t tell the blonde chef that. He opened his mouth a fraction, let the blonde roll his blue eyes up to the ceiling at the waste of the treat. The other staff milled around, some sharing a drink, sweat cooling on their brow now that the evening shift was over. Friday night was one of the busiest shifts of the week and the mood was that of lazy contentment from a job well done.

Bard pinched a cherry from the terracotta bowl that sat between himself and Ciel and shot a demure smile up to his young protégée. 

“What’s that look for?” Ciel slurred around a mouthful of tart. He could feel it sticking to the corner of his mouth. Bard sat up on his elbows and gave Ciel the most coy grin he could manage. He rolled the fruit between his teeth and dropped the cherry pit out into his hand like a little clot of blood.

“I had sex last night.”

Ciel stopped chewing and narrowed his eye.

“Why the _fuck_ would you tell me that? I don’t tell you about my sex life.” Ciel cracked the hard shell of the tart with less tact that he hoped. The china clinked loudly in the kitchen.

“I wish you would,” Bard smile slowly, words slurred slightly around the cherry flesh. He kept giving Ciel a confident, cocky smile and the hairs on the back of the teenager’s neck bristled.

“Who was it with…” Ciel said down to his plate. He pushed broken sweets around with the delicate spoon he held and tried desperately not to imagine a better version of himself. Thinner, taller, _perhaps with two eyes-_

“With my wife.”

Ciel’s eyebrows raised without his permission, his mouth still slightly open and sticky with disrespected desert.

“What - really?” His heart skipped a beat at the way Bard nodded, ducked his head to smooth his rough palm over the tufts of blonde hair. A smile broke over the chef’s face and and gave Ciel that same gleaming smile. He could hardly be annoyed at that look.

“She let me do that thing you never did for me.”

Ciel’s mood deflated. Scowl returned. His heart crawled up into his throat. His skin prickled with angry sweat. His spoon returned, murderous to the plate, so he could shovel up the sticky crumbles and swallow down his disappointment with sugar.

“And what’s that,” he seethed between his teeth. He tried not to sound bitter. He failed. He fumed. _I did everything with you_ , he held behind his jealous tongue, sugar in his mouth quickly replaced with salt. He swallowed down the mouthful, past the lump in his throat, and he forced himself to glance up at his boss. Bard was still smiling softly, glassy-eyed with something that spell-bound the eighteen-year-old.

“She let me put a baby in her,” he said quietly. Ciel dropped his spoon. It clinked against the china and they both flinched. Ciel’s fingers twitched uselessly in the air as he blinked at the man - the _father_ \- standing across from him.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Bard rounded the table, came up behind Ciel with that damned smile on his face and leaned up against the line of his back, nose pressed to the back of Ciel’s head. The boy went still, standing only tall enough to be tucked under the stubbled line of the older man’s chin.

“Nah pigeon, I’m not fucking with you.” His laugh came out like a rumble against Ciel’s spine, his rough finger hooking the back of the boy’s suspenders and giving them a tug. “I’m going to be a _daddy_.”

Ciel breathed out, turned his head so he could nudge against the blonde’s hard shoulder. He didn’t know what to say. He found Bard’s hand over the sugar-dusted surface of the bench under their palms and gave it the smallest, affectionate squeeze. He looked up, made eye contact with Bard and the blonde’s mouth suddenly dropped in concern.

“Wait. What’s that on your face?” Bard slid his hand out from under Ciel’s to grab for his jaw, turning it sideways into the light.

“What is it?” Ciel twisted his chin up. Bard laughed, teeth white and honest.

“Ah, never-mind. It’s just a smile.” He patted the side of Ciel’s cheek and knocked him back, that glorious smile still flirting with his entire face, his soul. Ciel had never seen him look so handsome, so completely satisfied with the life he had built with his rough, tattooed hands. It made Ciel’s chest turn to toffee despite the way he rolled his eye and tucked his hair flippantly behind his ear. He gave Bard a shrug that said he wasn’t intensely happy for him, but his mouth curled up and betrayed him.

“You should smile more often,” Bard mused. He plucked another cherry from the bowl between them and tugged free it’s stem, rolling the fruit between their fingers. “It makes you look very charming.”

Ciel opened his mouth to say something clever but the sound of the kitchen door opening made the words die on his tongue. His desert was forgotten. Heart pounding. Slightly annoyed that he got this way every time his priest came to fetch him from work, despite doing it every night for the last month. Bard shouldered him, laughed deep in his chest. “And speaking of charming.”

They all loved Sebastian.

The cooks. The waiters. _Bard_. Even Bard’s wife Mey threw a rare and nervous smile towards the welcomed man, and was rewarded with a familiar touch to her elbow. Ciel watched as Sebastian said hello to everyone, his face a calm facade of easy, honest confidence. He didn’t take another bite of his shattered tart, too interested in the extremely sweet object of his affections making his way through the kitchen and over to him.

“He’s early,” Ciel mumbled. He stared like a love-struck teenager. He _was_ a love-struck teenager. The presence of Sebastian in the room made his chest tight and his soul thrum, and he almost drowned in his gorgeous fantasy until Bard pulled him rudely from his thoughts with a smug laugh.

“What, do you think he came to see you?” He shot Ciel a secretive smile that sent the boy deflating down against the bench-top, arms crossed rudely over his chest. The end of his nose twitched.

“Men’s business again, hm?” He groaned, a dirty look on his face as Sebastian finally got close enough to hear their conversation. The priest nodded, humming deeply as he feigned a very serious expression at the smiling chef.

“Extremely important,” Sebastian promised - in French that didn’t make Ciel shudder. He was beginning to have trouble remembering a time the man struggled with the language, as (despite his heavy accent) he was now fluent enough to chat casually with the entire restaurant. It made Ciel privately proud. His breath hitched as Sebastian bypassed Bard to come press his nose into the top of his head, too shy to kiss him before the staff. He whispered privately into his ear instead.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Ciel shivered and fought the smile on his mouth, darting his lashes up to Bard and then finally to Sebastian. He turned his nose up at the both of them, ignoring how good the priest’s fingers felt when they flirtatiously grazed his apron. They tugged at the strings and Ciel melted into his palm like butter.

“I know you only get drunk and talk about me,” he said with a straight face, betrayed a second later by a cheeky smirk. Bard rested his tattooed arm against Sebastian’s shoulder and clicked his teeth, reaching up to pull at the bundle of Ciel’s hair on top of his head. His bristles came up and he wriggled away from the both of them, Bard raising his chin to the last of the dishes at the sink.

“Finish up and come have a drink with us, no?” Ciel nodded, smoothing down the top of his hair as his boss turned to leave, the priest keeping close tabs behind him. Before he left with Bard, he stopped to pull Ciel up against his side and give him a look. Their foreheads met, Ciel’s hands fell down to cup the sides of Sebastian’s strong arms and the priest held the small of his waist. Their eyelashes kissed. They didn’t. The others faded away and their noses brushed. Time stopped altogether.

And then, with the noise of bustling staff and quiet conversation, Sebastian let him go and followed Bard out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his study, eyes trained on him until the last second. Ciel’s heart struggled to keep up with the rest of him, cheeks the colour of the cherries on the table by his hand. He plucked one from the bowl and squished it a little between his fingers, smile still playing at his lips.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian didn't wait for Bard, and took the glasses off the shelf himself.

The room was worn down with the smell of the kitchen downstairs, something the priest didn’t notice anymore. He’d been here many times in the last month - so much that he filled the glasses without second thought, handing one over to the familiar blonde. Their cups met with a _clink_ and the chef gave Sebastian an unrestrained smile.

“I’m going to be a father,” Bard declared, eyes narrowed with mirth. Sebastian couldn’t help the knee-jerk smile that leapt to his lips, the way he reached out and tugged the blonde close so their chests could meet in a one-armed, firm hug. Bard lingered, broad hand between Sebastian’s shoulder blades as he released a happy sigh across the slope of his back.

“Congratulations,” Sebastian said over the lip of his glass, hand squeezing the man’s shoulder as they parted and took a healthy swallow of the honey liquor. The other’s mood was infectious, distracting Sebastian from his demons. His posture fell, his hands went back against the desk and let it take his weight. The conversation fell into an easy palaver like it had over the past month. They spoke of nothing, and of everything.

About work. About Claude. About his father - shoulders sinking down as the other made a sympathetic sound between his teeth, a noise of solidarity. And when the mood fell, so did Sebastian’s guard, and he cast a heavy look over his drink which made the other stiffen, the jovial light leaving his eyes as he inclined his chin towards the priest.

“Something’s bothering you, no?” Bard smiled with the corner of his mouth but his voice was serious. Sebastian flicked his eyes back down to his drink and gave it the smallest frown. Half the glass was empty, the other half in his limbs - relaxing his chest and loosening his tongue.

“Did you ever meet Ciel’s father?” He said at last, heart stammering at the sound of the words in Bard’s office. The chef shook his head.

“He told me his parents were dead.”

“No, not by blood.” Sebastian turned his jaw, drew his stare back up to the blonde. The little smile was gone. He struggled with the right word, free hand gesturing between the two of them. “His guardian?” It was a question, thick with awkward accent. Bard’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“With the white hair? No, I never met him.” The tattooed man picked his drink back up, took a thirsty swallow from the amber liquor and shook his head. “Just that night, when he beat the shit out of Ciel. _With a fire poker_ ,” he added, as if they words tasted ugly in his mouth. Sebastian’s chest tightened and his hand clenched around his glass.

A tense second passed. Bard breathed out audibly. “Is he a problem?”

Another moment. Sebastian stared into his half-full glass and felt his heart crumble. He stood on the precipice of betraying Ciel’s trust, and quenching his own trembling, uncontrollable rage. He swallowed around the pit in his throat. “Yes. He’s a problem.”

He felt the instant the atmosphere in the room changed. Bard’s posture stiffened. Their breath bated. The world went still around them and there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the shuffling of staff downstairs. 

“What’s wrong?” Bard finally asked, voice low. A whisper. Dangerously calm.

“I’m not sure I should say,” Sebastian admitted to his diminishing liquor. Reading his mind, the blonde stepped closer and topped up his drink. He didn’t back up. He stayed close. So close to Sebastian that the young priest could feel the tension prick up off his inked arms. They both took a drink at the same time, eyes meeting over the edge of the fine glass.

“He attacked Ciel.” The liquor forced it from him. Bard breathed hot against the back of his hand, mouth wet with alcohol.

“I was there.”

“No, after. It was worse.”

“What sort of worse?” Bard asked. He finished the rest of his drink as if the rigid line of Sebastian’s posture was enough to convince him he needed the liquor to take his next words.

“He raped him.”

Bard flinched. His cheeks bled red. The sound of his glass hitting the table with a hard thud was enough for Sebastian’s blood to run cold and he grabbed the chef by the shoulder as he seized up, halfway to the door and fists clenched to kill. Sebastian pinned him back, arm across the width of his hard chest and he shoved him into the wall. 

“I’ll kill him,” Bard growled. His arms shook. He gripped the priest’s jacket and shut his eyes, no doubt picturing the same things Sebastian had struggled to imagine the past month. “I’ll fucking _kill_ him, I’ll kill him for touching him like that, I’ll-”

Sebastian pressed him harder to the wall. His rage was magnetic. Infectious. He felt sick with the bile in his own mouth. 

“Ciel would kill _me_ if he knew I told you,” the priest begged. His fingers were over the blonde’s chest and he felt his heart throb. He wondered if it ached, wondered how _deeply_ the other loved Ciel and in the moment he didn’t mind, as long as it meant -

Bard touched his arm in a familiar, and gentle way. A squeeze of reassurance that didn’t match the fire in his eyes, or the way he seethed through his teeth.

“He’s like a baby brother to me, Sebastian.” His voice was back to that dangerous, calculating depth. It made Sebastian nervous, and calm. It made him hurt, and it made his veins prick with smouldering blood lust. “If someone hurt him, I want to hurt them too.”

Bard’s hand shifted, coaxed behind Sebastian’s head and their brows touched, damp with a thin sheen of sweat. The priest felt himself nod against the other man’s skin, their breath hitched and nasty between the span of their mouths. The next words came from a thought buried so deep inside, he didn’t realise how badly he ached for it until it was out in the open.

“Can you help me get a gun?” Sebastian asked. Bard smiled, joylessly. He squeezed the back of Sebastian’s hair and gave him a firm nod. Their dynamic shifted and became something far more deeply intwined than friendship. They conspired over mutual hatred.

And when Ciel came up moments later, his lithe body slipping through the door and into the dim office with a little knock, Bard and Sebastian were side-by-side, thick as thieves with fresh glasses of whiskey and shared secrets in the backs of their mouths.

“Were you bonding?” Ciel teased, mouth both amused and annoyed. His hair was array, his cheeks pink from the warmth in the kitchen and lips glazed with cherry juice. The men nodded at the same time.

“ _Ah_. What over?” Ciel slunk his way towards Sebastian, the priest lifting his arm so the boy could fit neatly against his chest, little hand sitting possessively over the flat expanse of the older man’s chest. Bard cocked his head to the glass in his hand and smiled.

“You, princess.”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The furnace flickered.

The room was hot. The dawn was cold. The bottle of spirits was luke-warm and uncorked, sat on the mantlepiece above the fire as a thin, linen shirt hit the flames and was greedily consumed by the fire. Another shirt followed. A book. A threadbare rabbit, worn down with years of attention. The heat consumed and destroyed - blackened the pages of the novel and melted the cover - cowboy dripping paint down the back of a ashed and aflame pony. The rabbit toy combust, beaded black eyes melting and clacking down to the hearth of the fire.

Adrian thumbed the final possession between his fingers, picked the spirits up with his other hand and drank from it again. It tasted like nothing on his tongue. He was numb with it. He couldn’t feel his face, where the wounds from the fight had healed unevenly and grotesquely. He pressed an angry kiss up against the slip of glass in the palm of his hand. Ciel’s eye. He dropped it into the fire too, with as little ceremony as he had with the toys, and his clothes, and the western novels.

With his palm itching for possession, he withdrew his loaded pistol and spun the barrel. Adrian aimed it at the fire, looked down the line of iron as the glass eye melted away and became nothing. Deceased. _Dead_. The undertaker seethed with anger and turned his head out the window. Through the rain he could see him, figure black in the mouth of the alley. Unmistakeable. Tall. Staring.

Adrian drew his gun up to the glass and aimed it at the blurry figure of the priest. In the dark of his mortuary he cocked the hammer, took a heavy swallow from his bottle and muttered wetly against the mouth of it one word. 

“ _Bang._ ”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween
> 
> Also, if you give me kudos, I'll make sure Adrian gets his ass kicked. Real hard. Just hit that little love-heart mate. Don't even have to be a member of this site to do it (shoots you with a double finger gun)


	18. Dix-Huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love y'all. Come ask me shit on Tumblr.

_Adrian should have turned him in._

When Adrian inherited his father’s funeral home, he was twenty-two. And, for the first time in his life, completely alone.

His father died in a dim, grey room and became a dim, grey corpse. His hand wilted like a flower in the palm of Adrian’s. His warmth ebbed away until there was nothing but the residue of his son’s own pulse and the knowledge that he was the sole member of his family. The owner of the family business. 

His dynasty of death.

The dead didn’t bother him much. He had tailed his father since he could walk. His hands had buried in the dark robes he’d one day wear, up on the ends of his toes to watch him stitch, and clean, and dress. The smell was second nature. The touch, expected. The damp, petal-thin texture of a corpse’s hand gave the young undertaker nostalgia to the last touch of his father. If he was honest, the corpses weren’t great company - but it was the only company he had.

_He should have turned him in._

He saw it all. Disease. Suicide. Murder. The young, the rich. Lovers. Babies. Headless, limbless. Bodies so perfect a cause of death could not be found, as if they’d died in their sleep and might wake any moment. Adrian spent the longest with these, trailing knuckles down the bloodless slope of their cheeks. Smoothing down the fading strands of their hair. It didn’t phase him. Nothing did. He had seen it all.

And then one cold, winter morning - it all changed.

There was a sound in the cart of corpses. Not the noise of the snow settling off the shroud and onto the concrete. Not the fading footsteps of the man who’d delivered the bodies. Not the flicker of the cremator.

A cry. 

Like a wounded animal. A ghost. The frailest whimper Adrian had ever heard. He shifted the shroud and it rose in pitch. A miserable sob, muffled under the corpses that lay like fallen trees, unblinking and long gone. Adrian’s heart crawled up in his throat as he rolled a woman onto her back, blue dress speckled with brown blood. Her eyes were glassy, blue. Sad. Dead. Then, from betwixt the creased ruffles of her skirts, a hand of miniature fingers reached up and for the light.

The undertaker froze. There was protocol for this. He’d studied it. He knew it like the back of his extended, shaking hand. There was a method, Adrian knew it in theory but his mind blanked and instinct kicked in when he rolled back another lifeless mass to reveal the body of a _very alive_ child. Coiled between the corpses of a man and a woman.

It’s baby pink flesh stood out so vividly amongst the bodies that Adrian was briefly disgusted, breath hitched and eyes wide at the sight of the living thing, writhing like a worm. Pathetic. Tiny. Absolutely alone. Adrian was aware of every living piece of him. His pulse, his wet, sticky breathing. Two deep-set ocean-coloured eyes, scanning Adrian’s face like he were God himself.

The child came without much fuss, writhing like a kitten, horrible whine stuck in his throat until his feet touched the ground. One shoe. One sock. He barely came to his hip, clothes and hair grey with neglect, and filth, and week-old blood. Adrian had never spoken to a child before. He couldn’t remember when he’d spoken to anyone beside the bodies. Almost flinched at how warm the child’s skin was as he crouched down and tucked back the matted hair from the small thing’s face.

A boy. With deep, unnerving blue eyes. He should have turned him in _instantly_.

That was the protocol. But he didn’t. He plucked the child off his feet again, took him from the cold room and up the stairs of his home. Stripped the matted clothes off his body and put him in a bath, combed the silt from his hair. Like he would with a body. A body that hiccuped, and held to the porcelain lip of the bath, looking expectantly at the young, burdened man above.

It was easy to think. Difficult to carry out when the child was swallowed in the sheets of his bed. His skin scrubbed clean and eyelashes heavy with fatigue, depression. Impossible to entertain the idea of any longer when he pressed a cheek into one of Adrian’s pillows, cried soundlessly in his sleep with his skinny legs tucked up under an oversized shirt.

He really should have turned Ciel in. But he never, ever did.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Adrian woke that night with a chill.

The space in the bed beside him was empty. Void of a small, six-year-old’s shape. 

A soft, haunting sound drifted up through the floorboards. At first Adrian was unsure of how the sound woke him - so gentle it could scarcely be heard in the silence of the funeral home. Until the undertaker realised why he heard it - he was primitively drawn to the melancholy noise coming from beneath him. The sound of a child crying.

The only light was from the cremator. An orange flicker danced up the stone walls and skewed all the shadows into spindly skeletons across the floor. He followed the crying to the bodies, side by side, draped in white sheets, rucked up by little hands. The orphan was beside himself in terror, simultaneously trembling with fear while pressing his face into the cold, decaying crook of his father’s shoulder. One of his hands had snuck under the sheets to hold his mother’s fingers - colourless and stiff. While the sheets had been tugged back to reveal the father’s neat, three piece suit, his face was still covered by the shroud.

“You’ll get sick,” Adrian said bluntly. Ciel flinched, darting upright on his skinny knees, eyes caught in the flicker of the fire. Tomorrow his parents would succumb to the same flame. His crying stopped, breath stuck in his throat as tears oozed down the sticky sides of his cheeks. The undertaker watched him hiccup, and his baby face crumpled up in agony.

“If you sleep with them you’ll get sick,” Adrian said again, holding out his hand to the boy. Ciel stared at the man’s fingers and squeezed his mother’s tighter. He ducked back down to press to the empty, withering body of the man under him.

“I don’t care,” he whispered. There was no other sound to hinder the frailness of his words. The mortician rolled his head back against his shoulders, neck cracking. He was tired. He wanted to tell the kid _fine_ , let him sleep downstairs with the bodies and get sick, let him fade into death with the rest of his family. But something held his tongue. The same something that stopped him from handing the boy into the authorities.

“You want this?” Adrian asked, coming up to tug at the coat Ciel’s father wore. It was black, thick. It smelt like death but the way the little boy bumped his nose into the collar suggested something was still there. Something distinctly familiar. Adrian figured if he’d had the chance, he would have liked to keep something of his own father’s. Something other than a funeral home. The boy didn’t protest when he stripped the corpse of it’s coat and handed the heavy bundle over to him.  

“There. Now let’s go.” He offered his hand again and Ciel considered his parents, the heavy burden of finality settling on his tiny, immature shoulders. A dullness set behind his eyes. When he took Adrian’s hand his fingers were limp, and his head hung with fatigue. He weighed nothing to the older man, bending to lift him up onto his shoulder to carry him from the morgue. With his face pressed to his father’s coat, he was fast asleep before he got up the stairs.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Can you make a complaint?”

Ciel stuck his finger through the worn hole in his coat sleeve and stubbed the end of his cigarette into the windowsill. The priest was on the ugly, red sofa - his eyes downcast and the same colour as the circles beneath them. Passionless red. Tired. His perfect hair sat rucked with stress. His lips a pale, unhappy line. Ciel crushed the withering remains of his smoke.

“No, sweetheart.”

His voice sounded tired too, as run down as the rest of him. The words settled on Ciel’s shoulders and pushed down. Heavy. It had been like this for a while now. Claude was slowly sucking the life from the man he loved, and there was nothing Ciel could do about it.

“If you said something, maybe ‘e would be removed, no?” Ciel felt stupid as he said it. He didn’t know what else to say. He was as utterly useless as his cigarette butt.

“It’s his word against mine,” Sebastian muttered. He raised his head, frowned and gave Ciel a gentle once-over, eyes lingering too long on his lips. Ciel ran his tongue against the flesh, fingers twitching. Ciel slipped off the windowsill and came to stand between the priest’s bent knees, hand soft against his cheek. Sebastian leaned into it, like a six-foot-four cat, and the tension lifted off his back. The frown disappeared between his eyebrows.

Ciel couldn’t solve all Sebastian’s problems, but he’d always been good with his body.

“What if there was evidence?” Ciel asked, voice low. He combed back Sebastian’s hair then lowered down onto his knees, hands smoothing over the tense line of the priest’s open thighs. Even in this state, Sebastian shivered. Pavlovian. Yeah, Ciel was _real_ good with his body.

“Evidence?” The taller man echoed, shoulders falling back onto the faded fabric, hands joining Ciel’s as he tugged open his trousers and cupped the side of the Parisian’s face. Ciel nodded and pressed his nose to the seam between the other’s legs.

“Please,” Sebastian whispered. His eyes were still the same, tired colour but his pupils were dark. Lips wet with spit. Ciel shook his head slowly, thumbs pushing into the stiffening mass between his legs.

“Please what?” Ciel pulled back a little to tease, aware of how the priest’s eyes hadn’t left his mouth. He knew what he wanted. Sebastian gripped the back of his hair and shivered.

“Put it in your mouth again,” the American sighed, turning his head into the sofa as if it embarrassed him to admit it. Like he was ashamed of the way his flesh twitched under Ciel’s thumbs and his hips jumped off the couch to meet him. It made the boy smile, slow and dangerous. Maybe he wasn’t _entirely_ useless.

“In my mouth?” He whispered, innocent. He let his head lull back into the grip the older man had on his head, opened his mouth and showed his tongue, so lewd in manner the fist tugged his hair tighter. He choked out a hiccuping moan.

“Want you to suck on it. Please, Ciel.” His hips rolled up slow, his abdomen flexed when Ciel smoothed his palm up against it, shifting his coat down his arm as his fingers crept under the priest’s shirt. The teenager cocked his head to the side, let his hair fall onto the man’s thigh as he idly played with the front of his trousers.

“Do you trust me, Bastian?”

“What?” He looked dumb and it made Ciel smile. His brain wasn’t working, all because Ciel’s thumb was pressed to his dick through the fabric of his trousers. The power went to his head and he scraped his nails lightly over the American’s hard stomach.

“I said,” his finger caught in the taller man’s belly button, “do you trust me? To get evidence?”

The priest took a while to catch up, eyes glassy from the skin-to-skin contact on his tired body. He registered the words with a frown. A faint huff. He grabbed Ciel’s wrist and squeezed, eyelashes narrowing.

“No,” he said firmly. He tightened his hand on his wrist and Ciel rested his cheek on his hot, tense thigh. “No. I won’t let him near you. I won’t let him touch you.”

Ciel shook his head again and pulled back, tugged his hand free from the priest’s fingers and undid his trousers with a well-practiced flick of his wrist. Sebastian sighed, conflicted. Brain snuffed out like a candle.

“Don’t you trust me? Bastian, _s'il te plaît_ fais moi confiance.”

And that did it. Even though he spoke it fluently, even though Ciel’s French was hardly a surprise to the older man it still spoke to him. Reduced him to blushed cheeks, weak resolve. Ciel leaned forward on his knees and parted his lips again, smiling. It wasn’t a happy smile. It was one of smug confidence. Power. The priest’s mind was on his cherry mouth but Ciel’s was on revenge.

He wouldn’t let Claude hurt him anymore. If he was only good for his body, then he would use it to take Father Faustus down.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian's voice echoed like thunder, dripped from his mouth like raw honey – unrefined and rich, sticky with accent and anguish.

Ciel kept silent in the shadows, back pressed to the cold stone of the church walls, grounding. Sebastian's voice threatened to undo him. His calm, patient stance before the seated crowd – authoritative and handsome in a way the teenager had never been privy to witness before. His voice shook but the crowd absorbed, eyes trained on their most perfect leader. They were exactly where Ciel needed them. Sebastian under the spotlight before the lectern.

The stage.

The eighteen-year-old pressed his cheek to the stone wall as the priest cast a look to him, lips pressing into a thin, anxious line. Ciel's heart skipped under the stare. He nodded. Sebastian watched. The Parisian mouthed _trust me_ and the American went back to his reading like the exchange hadn't happened. Ciel slipped further into the shadows.

The church was large. Impressively overwhelming. Ciel's footsteps echoed like drops of water on the stone walls, skinny shadow slinking alongside him as he wandered deeper into the monolithic structure, nails scraping against the cold wall to ground himself. Deep breathes that rattled on the exhale, shoulders trembling like the prey he'd taken the role of.

And it didn't take long for him to find Ciel. 

Not with the sound of his shoe dragging slowly over empty halls. Not with the way he purposefully placed his step, let it reverberate up the hallowed silence. The older man's breath was as chilled as the frigid temple. Ciel didn't feel it until it was right against the nape of his neck.

“Couldn't help yourself,” Claude whispered, rancorous. There was an air of fondness in his bitter voice as he wrapped his fingers around the narrow bone of Ciel's bicep. Like he was speaking to a bad dog. A child. He laughed into the teenager's hair with adulterated glee. The last notes lingered on the ceiling as he shoved the boy against the brickwork, air leaving his lungs with a surprised cry. With his wrists trapped, body pinned with frustrating _ease_ , Claude had him trapped between his fingers, and Ciel had him wrapped around his own.

“What are you doing here?” Claude's body was suffocating. His hands dragged Ciel's wrists up the wall and kept them there with one fist.

“Waiting for you,” Ciel answered, honestly. The priest lowered his fingers to cup the underbelly of his jaw, raised his chin up so they could finally make eye contact. Ciel shivered. Claude narrowed his colourless eyes. They darted down to the smattered of kisses Sebastian sucked into his throat, blood-red and purple. Claude's thumb brushed over the loving wounds, combed back his head so he could see. 

He frowned. His thumb pressed deeper. Ciel flinched, tried to slip away but Claude crushed him harder to the stone. He let go of his face, dropped his hand to skirt his fingers down to Ciel’s waistband and the boy’s face fell when he found his knife, tucked into the back of his trousers, pressed into the dip of his spine. The priest's laugh was inaudible as he slipped it free and opened the blade.

“I always wanted to cut you,” he whispered against his ear. “You left a scar on me. I want to put one on you.” Ciel sunk closer to the stone and let Sebastian's distant, muffled words absorb into his back and shoulders. He was the building all around them.

“Then cut me,” Ciel whispered. Intimate. His voice was low, eye narrowed. The cold blade kissed his skin, blunt side dragged up his body until it rested on his cheek, pressed to the peach of his face. Ciel exhaled as the string of his eye-patch severed. It fell onto the floor beneath him. He didn't bother to close his bad eye. Claude's laugh hit his cheek like acid.

“No wonder you cover that up,” he smiled slowly, like he couldn't believe it. “Does he know about this?”

He didn't have to say who. Ciel swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yes.” 

Claude clicked his tongue, hands naive and flippant with his blade as it kissed the teenager's hairline. His eyes grazed down the body of the boy two decades his junior. “There's a lot of things about you that could make a man forget about that, I suppose.”

“He likes it,” Ciel muttered, ignoring his instinctual habit to close his lashes over the glass eye. His heart hurt with pride. Sebastian loved him. _All of him_. Said it when he pressed the kisses to his throat. Ciel could still feel his voice up against the warming stone.

“Do you think he'd love you if you had two of these?” He gestured to the fake eye with a twist of his armed wrist, resting the blade up under the lashes of his functional eye. A tear slipped free, involuntary and hot.

“Would he love you if you were blind, Ciel?”

The boy closed his eyes at that. It hurt to imagine. Claude's body swelled with success. Then the tall, cruel priest dragged his thumb down the silent boy's cheek and made the fatal mistake of slipping his thumb between his lips. Ciel opened his mouth. The priest dipped past his teeth. The eighteen-year-old clamped his maw down on the finger, made the priest scream loud enough it drowned out Sebastian's voice. He made another mistake in thrashing, thumb locked tight in Ciel's teeth that his skin bled, tore. The teenager let it dribble down his chin, jaw locked like a dog. 

When his blade hit the floor, Ciel let go. Ducked. Swiped it off the stone and turned, mouth red. A blur. A crack. He stumbled back and whined, palm pressed flat to his face.

“You punched me,” Ciel mumbled. He was in shock. Hot blood dribbled out his nose down to his teeth, replacing the taste of the priest's. He tightened his fist around his knife, staggered back as Claude followed him. Eating right from the palm of his hand.

He almost fell. His knees went limp, hand smacked on the concrete as he ran to Sebastian's sound, voice droning like the bees in Ciel's chest, threatening to break free and scatter across the church floor. Claude's footsteps followed. Chased with echoes. Ciel didn't look back but he sprinted, chest burning as Claude encroached, legs spanning double the length of Ciel's, catching him quicker than he could handle.

With his heart on his tongue and his chest on fire, Ciel grabbed a fistful of velvet curtain and _screamed_. The sound stopped Claude in his tracks, seething. The teenager smeared his bloody nose onto his cheek, his throat. His shirt. Tugged the buttons free and they rolled onto the floor.

“Au secours!” He cried, throat tearing. Claude hit him again but he laughed, teeth pink with blood. The teenager let himself stumble backwards, trip over his own legs as his body hit the floor with a wet smack. It was loud. Ciel licked his teeth, manic.

“S'il vous plaît, aidez!” He begged for help, scrambled backward on his shaking hands and knees until he was upright. Bolting. Claude chasing after him so mindlessly, eyes black. Brain dead. Cat and mouse. Ciel burst past the velvet curtains the same colour as the blood drying on his face and cried, throwing himself down onto the stone with bated breath, the most important performance of his life.

The stage.

A hundred mouths sucked in the same surprised breath. The pews creaked with readjustment. A susurrus of terror. Ciel's own breath sticky in his ears, Claude's hot with hatred, didn't account for him _not_ stopping when an audience watched the violence. Before he struck him again, the boy wriggled to the leg of the man close to where he fell and he sobbed, letting the natural adrenaline speak for him.

“Please, s-sir.” He raised his head to the startled man, bloody hands on the fine wool of his trousers, glass eye closed. “He tried to kill me.” He didn't miss the way the stranger's eyes lingered on the kisses on his neck, or the way his shirt was ripped open. His little body. His long hair. The way he curled in close to the man, who instinctively stood and tucked Ciel behind him. A wall between the actor and the priest. Claude seethed for the audience and they all trembled with ferment tension.

“I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you, Phantomhive!” His voice was as ripped apart as Ciel's shirt, face livid. Two men leapt to grab him, held him back from the audience. From Ciel. Their three-pieces strained with the weight of him, all Hell's wrath embodied in the priest whose white collar was stained with incriminating, irreversible blood.

Ciel stayed coiled behind the first man, who seemed to shake as badly as he. A woman beside him touched his head, gasped in surprise at the blood, tried to comb back his hair like a mother, she too consumed by anxiety. The trembling was contagious. The whole audience came alive with it, standing. Talking. Wood scraping as they came forward, hands on Ciel. Others on Claude. Some leaving. Some excited. Hushed shouting. Through the mass of dark bodies Ciel raised his head and looked right through them, found the one face unmarred by confusion.

“Father Michaelis, this boy.” They all whispered, church smothered with excitement. Ciel pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smile, let his face turn towards the sun like a flower, cupped in the palm of the priest’s hand. He trembled. Ciel hid his mouth in the inside of his wrist.

“Call for the police,” Sebastian demanded, voice urgent like before. Commanding attention. Making Ciel’s heart roll onto it’s back and _beg_. No one battered an eyelash when he took the boy’s face between his hands and checked him, thumb prodding at his bleeding nose. Ciel preened with the attention.

“Are you alright?” Sebastian’s voice shook.

“Yes sir,” Ciel whispered. He swallowed hard, pressed closer to his skin. Tasted iron on his teeth as he turned his head and stared at Claude, held back by three men, all gloves and Sunday best on bloody, furious robes. With Sebastian’s arms pulling him closer, clandestinely, he gave Claude the smallest, coyest smile. The sweetest hint of smug joy that sent the religious man into a fury, a fourth man holding him back from the eighteen-year-old. Even Sebastian tensed at that, hand hard on the back of Ciel’s head.

And when the police came it happened according to plan. The church-going men spoke, hands still trembling. The women explained. They showed, with laced gloves, the spot where Ciel's body first hit the floor, little blood splatters as a marker. The crooked pew. Accused with pointed fingers at the man in custody, arms tied back, shoulders tight. Restrained. The audience could not lie as vehemently as the priest did.

The witnesses lingered to watch the inglorious arrest, the idol of society reduced to incredulous whispers, gossip. They flitted off, one by one, growing bored when the drama died and the law enforcement carried out their job. Carried out the priest with wrists tied, glasses askew. Sebastian stopped them with a polite touch to uniformed shoulders, mouth sweet but eyes narrowed.

“Can I have a word?”

And the two police shared a look, and turned Claude. Made him face the younger priest, to whom he slowly raised his head for. From across the room Ciel could see him seethe.

“You’re lucky the police are here,” Sebastian said lowly. “I might have killed you for the way you touched him.”

Claude raised his heavy crown higher to fix a cold, dead stare into the younger priest's eyes, his lip curling up with hatred. He sniffed.

“I hope it’s all been worth it,” the imprisoned man muttered. His finger bled behind his back. “You’ve damned yourself. All for a second-hand _slut_.”

Ciel, the police, and the last remaining witnesses, flinched when Sebastian hit him. The noise of bone crushed beneath flesh, the crack of the punch into the high-ceiling stonework. It raised the hairs on Ciel’s neck, made him huff, surprised. The police startled too, stood to attention and dragged Claude back, head hung. One between him and Sebastian. Fat _plips_ of blood beneath their polished shoes. Sebastian’s heavy breathing in the static, fist coiled by his side. A white glove pressing him back, but the American went willingly. Satisfied.

“Watch it, Father.” Their warning somewhat softened with ingrained respect for Sebastian, for their holy-man. Ciel’s heart swelled with pride, watched them tug Claude back until he was dragged on his disgraced shoes, teeth bared. Eyes fixed on the boy who was coiled in the pews, legs tucked beneath him like a baby deer.

“You and your whore will burn in Hell.” 

It was the last thing he said to them, and the last time they would ever see Father Claude Faustus.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Sebastian’s hands shook as he closed and locked the door.

Adrenaline. Jealously. Rage. _Ciel_. He turned and the boy was waiting for him, looking up at him with daunting eyes. Blood smattered his fat upper lip, the bottom of his narrow nose. He didn’t speak as Sebastian grabbed him, backed him up into the heart of the church and buried his nose into his throat. His skin smelt like blood, and sweat.

“What did he do to you?” When he pulled away Ciel’s real eye was as glassy as his fake.

“Nothing,” Ciel whispered, mouth open. Sebastian pushed him up against a stone alter in the middle of the raised platform, stepped over the fallen Bible he’d dropped when he saw it - saw Ciel stumble out onto the stone and hit it with a sick smack. They’d spoken about it so many times, rehearsed it in words to the point of insanity but nothing had prepared him for the moment in reality. His fingers reached under the back of the teenager’s head and checked for damage.

“Where did he touch you?”

Ciel’s shirt was ripped, tugged apart. Buttons missing. The priest could see the blush-coloured nipples on his chest, down to the dip of his bellybutton between the rise of his hipbones. His fingers trembled as he laid Ciel back onto the stone, shoved his hands up his shirt and covered all the places the fabric could not.

“N-n-nowhere. I ripped it myself,” Ciel stuttered, back curling off the cool rock, fingernails embedding into the back of the American’s hands. “To make it look like…” And he trailed off when Sebastian stopped. 

He must have looked as livid as he felt because Ciel gulped, mouth still red with his own blood. Sebastian leaned over him easily and flattened his tongue between his lip and nose, dragged it hard across the iron-flavoured strip of skin to clean the blood right off him, hands shaking in fists as he kept the Parisian pinned flat beneath his angry body.

“You’re acting like an animal,” Ciel groaned, wriggling halfheartedly. He turned his cheek but the priest followed, curling his tongue into his mouth to wet it and begin again. Cleaning him. Breathing through his nose in heavy, uneven pants. 

When he finished he pulled up, as if to prove there was something still sober inside of him. But the sight of Ciel laid flat against the alter, shirt hitched over his ribs, maw wet with pink spit, convinced him that there was nothing human left. He ducked his head, flattened his tongue over the exposed bud peeking past the folds of Ciel’s shirt and sucked once. Cruel. Quick.

“You make me feel like one,” the American muttered. Eyes clearing. Hands pushing the teenager’s thighs apart and pressing his hips into them. Nose on the flat behind his ear. Fingers hot on his stomach, dipping down into Ciel’s trousers to tug them open, pull them down over the ivory peak of his hips and down to his shaking, coltish legs. The boy opened his mouth but Sebastian pushed him onto his stomach, the teenager hissing as his stomach made contact with the stone.

“Bastian,” he mumbled. His hair fell over his face and stuck to the wet mess on his cheeks and chin.

“Mhm,” he managed, leaning over Ciel and forcing his legs apart. The boy swore and his back curled, nails faltered on the stone and he bared his neck, eyes closed and mouth open.

“Fuck me like this.”

Sebastian breathed in a sharp breath, as quick as the thrust he pressed into Ciel. His fingers curled around his hips and he squeezed throughly, forcing another excited whimper from the teenager.

“I can’t.” Sebastian was surprised he had any clarity left, words forced between grit teeth. The sound Ciel made was flattering. Stroked his masculinity. He whined like the idea of _not being fucked_ physically hurt him. His back coiled up to suit.

“Please. _S'il vous plaît_.” He had an affinity for begging. “I need you Bastian, don’t you need me too?”

The priest dragged his knuckle down the line of Ciel’s back, flesh covered in a thin layer of sweat. With his other hand he brushed back his hair and pressed a soft kiss into the nape of his neck. Then he bit it, hard enough to make the smaller man scream.

“I want to fuck you,” he admitted, teeth behind his ear. He didn’t flinch as he swore but his fingers squeezed his skin harder, hurt him purposefully. His hips thrust harder, rougher. Out of control. He felt the last of it slip past his fingers.

“I need you too, sweetheart. But not now. Not while I’m angry.” He couldn’t manage more than whispers, fed up into the shell of his boy’s ear, hands slipping under him to catch greedy touches of his undulating stomach, his writhing thighs. The stone was slick beneath him.

“I don’t want our first time to be like this, while I’m so. While I’m, uh. God.” He stuttered off, rutting into Ciel like he was an object, body so hot it melted any rational thought right from his head and he nudged Ciel’s thighs further apart with his knees. He pressed a finger past the teenager’s lips, nursed it down onto his tongue as he latched onto it, placating him.

“You keep trying to be gentle,” Ciel mumbled around his finger, teeth pressing down on it, tongue slick. “Don’t make me wait. I’m not a virgin.” The priest let his finger slip out, ran it over Ciel’s proud chin, dropped his palm down lower until it was resting on his throat. He curled his fingers around it and gave a kind squeeze of warning.

“But I am.”

And that shut Ciel up. Or it might have been the way he ran his finger down his back and dipped the end of it inside of him, silencing any needy demands the little thing had to say. His mouth open and shut. Fingers coiled and uncoiled. The familiar tightness around his middle finger pushed a please sound from the priest’s mouth, and another kiss to the back of Ciel’s head.

“We’re in church,” Ciel whispered. Like it _meant_ something to him. Like he knew it meant something to Sebastian. Before Claude. Before the two of them had even met. The idea forced Sebastian’s heart to skip a beat, his free fingers to tighten in the meat of the Parisian’s bare hips. His fingers dig into Ciel's ass so rough that they spread his cheeks, got him crazy when he brushed a second finger up against the stretch of his rim. The noise Ciel made caused the priest to laugh.

“You really like it here, huh.”

Ciel shook his head, good eye glazed. Lied even while he backed up against his hand and sobbed when Sebastian got two knuckles deep inside of him.

“No,” Ciel muttered, dumbly. Sebastian laughed again. His mouth pressed between the boy’s tense shoulder-blades and he pressed him flush down to the stone.

“Yes you do,” he breathed. Another kiss, lower on his back. His fingers crooked and Ciel keened. He kept squirming under the weight of his body and it only made the priest harder.

“You like it right _here_ ,” he murmured, dipping his fingers in and out to illustrate his point, let the loud whimper off Ciel’s mouth prove it. He rolled his tongue into the dimples he used to dream of touching. Now they were free for him to kiss, and nip at. To love. Without thinking he lowered his mouth, tilted his jaw and rolled his tongue up against the spot where his fingers stretched Ciel apart. The noise the boy made was primal.

He jerked forward so quick he slipped off Sebastian’s fingers, shuddered, clawed up the altar and away from his mouth, mortified and moaning. Thighs clamping close together. Still pressed to the stone he turned his head, hair falling down over his panting lips, shaking shoulders.

“Why did you do that!” He breathed between panting, fixing the priest with a look of sheer terror. Vulnerability. Sebastian smoothed his hand over the skin of his back, attempting to calm him. He could taste him briefly on the tip of his tongue and he pressed it to the inside of his cheek.

“I just wanted to do it,” he gulped. Honestly. Fingers stroking his back. Hairs raised on his arms. Ciel shifted closer to the alter, cheeks the colour of his lips. Rolled onto his back and the priest’s hand hovered above him.

“Hasn’t anyone done that to you before?”

The question hung like a weight in the empty, echoing church and the priest shivered when the boy shook his head, just once, eyes wide. Something coiled in Sebastian’s gut, something prideful. Warm. He slipped his hands up under the boy’s hips and lifted them, tongue wetting the corner of his mouth.

“Roll back onto your belly,” he demanded. Ciel kept shaking his head, knuckles white on the alter as the priest pushed him easily to his side, lifted one leg up over his shoulder so he could press his mouth back down against his quivering hole. His tongue pressed flat over it, drew a startled cry out of the teenager before he rolled it, dipped it in enough to make him flinch. He licked him out again, slow. Hungry. Thumbs leaving bruises in his unstable thighs.

“What does it feel like?” He whispered into his skin, running his tongue across his teeth. His mouth was so wet. He pulled back when Ciel didn’t answer, came up to look at his abdomen, rising and falling. A little hand coiled into the back of his hair and forced him to stay between his legs, tugging hard.

“Good! It feels good,” Ciel sobbed, tugging his hair again. Down. _Down_. Back between his legs where Sebastian dropped his jaw and pushed his tongue inside him just like he kissed him. Ravenous. Ciel made sounds like a wounded animal and raked his nails into his hair. “Oh my God, fuck. _Fuck_.”

He tasted dark and hot on his tongue, throbbed in time with the tremor in his thigh, cried every time the priest pulled off him and bit the inside of his legs, pulled them further apart. He bleated when his finger dipped back into him, pushing deeper than his tongue could reach, crooking up against the spot that made him moan. Unrelenting. He pressed a second. Dragged his tongue over the stretch and groaned when Ciel tugged his hair again, wrists shaking from how hard he kept him pinned down to the altar.

And when he came it started so slowly Sebastian almost missed it. His stomach contracted, tensed up under his palm and then his back coiled off the surface of the rock, sound cut off as he pressed his lips into a line and sucked in an anxious breath, thighs shaking. Quivering. He pulled up and he watched as Ciel Phantomhive fell apart beneath him, eyes glassy like the priest wasn’t there. Like Ciel wasn’t there. It didn’t seem to end, seemed to last so long the American had to hold his hips down flat so he could calm down, breath too shallow and bird-like chest palpating too quick for comfort. It played out for at least a minute, Ciel’s sounds fading from desperate to tired, to overwhelmed. 

His nose filled with blood again, unassisted and thin, spreading down onto his open lips and the corners of his mouth. His chin. Shaking with the air coming out between them. Wet like the tears rolling down Ciel’s cheeks, and the slick mess pooling against his belly. Smattered against his shirt, his fingers, his clavicle.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The city never slept.

Insects traded secrets. Wood creaked. Doors slammed. The breathing, chattering and pulses of a million people made a drone, inaudible but tangible, enough to work its way beneath Sebastian’s skin. 

Paris didn’t sleep, and neither did he.

Ciel was a paragon of rest. He made a warm, neat line down the side of the priest’s body, one hand on the span of his chest and one pressed up under his chin, soundless snores between his little, white teeth. All his hair curled around him, mussed from the pillows and the sex, and the endless circles Sebastian made in the back of it, halfheartedly wishing it would be enough to rouse him so he wouldn’t weather this insomnia alone.

Even the moon was loud. The wind. The steps of late night travellers. Sebastian closed his eyes but couldn’t rest, not with the brightness of ten-thousand bulbs beyond the windowsill. Their light burned out the sky, burned out the stars until they could only be seen in the dozens. Not like Montana. Not like silent, terrifying Montana, where the silence was a suffocating comfort.

Ciel shifted in his sleep, tilted his head and Sebastian kissed his sleeping mouth. Kept kissing, lips lax and gentle under him. His tongue pressed against sleepy teeth, opened his jaw easily until a soft, startled sound came from under him, and Ciel sat up, eyes blinking in the city light.

“What is it?” He groaned, voice deep with sleep. Sebastian didn’t answer, only pressed his nose to his throat and smelt how warm his skin was, how languid and lazy the waking boy was under him. 

“Were you kissing me while I was asleep?” His voice seemed more alert. Shoulders tense. “What the fuck is wrong with you Bastian?” The priest pressed him back down to the sheets and kissed him again, smothering all the protests off his unhappy mouth.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. Pressed another kiss into him, so hard it forced the tension from Ciel’s body and made him melt back into the sheets, same colour as his milk-white skin. He placated him with his mouth, cocked his head to suck a hungry, midnight wanting into his throat.

“I love you,” he muttered for the millionth time that day, words stuck on his tongue like there was nothing else for him to say. Ciel nodded, hair shifting on the pillow case and throat bared.

“I know you do,” he mumbled. He pressed his cheek back to the pillows, pressed back down into the sheets with his pretty, naked body. His hands came down on Sebastian’s bare chest, squeezed as he made an interested noise under his breath.

“So strong,” he mumbled, eyelashes fluttering as he succumbed back into his aborted dream. Sebastian cupped the back of his head, felt the strands of hair slip through his fingers like silk. Ciel’s heartbeat slowed to a patient metronome, another noise above the whispering city. Sebastian kept the sleeping body against his chest, nudged his chin into Ciel’s shoulder and stared out at the night.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Careful, cowboy.”

Bard clicked his teeth, inclining his head as Sebastian turned the revolver in his hand, three fingers wrapped lightly around the grip. The priest weighed it in his palm, thumbed the latch forward to release the cylinder and inspected the empty chamber. He released his held breath and flicked his eyes back to the chef, pressing it shut without a second glance.

“I’ve used one before,” he said lowly, setting the gun back down on the desk with a weighty click. He picked up his liquor and noticed how the glass shook as he held it.

“Hm, I almost forgot you were a country boy.” Bard’s tone was serious but his eyes were bright, lit up with ideas. Sebastian’s might have looked the same, catching in the flickering lamplight like the iron-black glint of the revolver between the two men.

“How much do I owe you?” Sebastian asked. Bard sucked in a breath between his teeth.

“ _Geez_ , Bastian. Nothing. We’re practically family by now.” He gestured between them and Sebastian nodded, gratitude forming a lump in his throat. He glossed it over with more alcohol. Glossed over the entire, morbid situation. His hand curled into the edge of the desk they both leaned against, fingers almost touching the chef’s.

“Besides,” Bard continued. He had stubble on his chin and it scraped along as his hand as he rubbed at it. “How can you ask me to put a price on something like this?” He gestured again. “On Ciel’s safety.”

Sebastian sent him a glance over the edge of his glass and inclined his head, shifting his hand to the side to give the other man’s knuckles an affectionate graze. 

“Thank you, Bard.” 

The blonde stared hard ahead, eyes lost to thought as they trained on the floorboards of the dim office. His shoulders rose once, head shook a little as they both took a sip of their drinks.

“Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smash that little kudos button. Smash it hard. Make it feel good. Do it.


	19. Dix-Neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on Tumblr: bun-o-ween

 

_If I could make a wish I think I'd pass,_

_Can't think of anything I need,_

_No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound,_

_Nothing to eat, no books to read._

_Making love with you has left me peaceful, warm and tired,_

_What more could I ask?_

_There's nothing left to be desired._

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“What is God?”

Sebastian’s daddy had hair black as his eyes, and skin like dirt on the riverbank. Brown and weathered, smoothed over and scarred. He had a voice like an afternoon thunderstorm. Shoulders that carried the weight of the world and grew dark under the great northern sun.

His father smelt like horses. Tobacco. His palms were rough with work, and his smile was rarer than hen’s teeth. He was intelligent, with eyes that bore right through foolish questions his son laid down before his leather boots, all wide eyed and endless queries for the man that hung the moon.

His daddy clicked his tongue. Smoke whispered around his calloused fingers, over the two of them as they sat on the splintered steps of the porch watching the day roll across the paddocks. The grass rustled under the wind. The trees whispered. The clouds passed by at the same leisure that his dad took to answer, dark eyes focused on a rise in the distance. The hill where his wife was buried. He gestured to the grand ponderosa, face shrouded by the broad rim of his hat.

“God is the love of a woman.”

Sebastian’s brow creased. He looked at the side of his father’s stern face and then down at his bare feet, toes brushing through the red dirt. He was hardly a teenager but he would never forget what his father had just said to him.

“What do you mean?”

His father smiled wryly and leaned back on his arms to let the sun fall down upon his face.

“You ask too many questions,” he chided, not entirely annoyed. There was a tone in his voice, a glint behind his stoic eyes that suggested he had a world of knowledge to gift upon his son. But, the reflection of Sebastian’s naive expression must have spooked him because he said no more.

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” he said with finality, still staring at his wife’s grave.

And it took his son thirty years to realise he was talking about sex.

 

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Paris rained.

Droplets hit the windows of the warehouse as a cup of tea warmed the priest’s palm. Ciel read on his belly, hair the colour of the weather outside and legs bent behind him, ankles crossed. One of his hands made a fist under his chin, shoulders sloped. His face was spellbound, hair pulled over one shoulder so Sebastian could watch his eyes flick back and forth over the words, glass eye keeping time beside it's twin like it never forgot how to see. The sight of Ciel, and the spring rain kissing the windows, bewitched the priest into believing anything was possible as long as Ciel was tangible and safe before him.

The priest put down his tea, put his knees into the bed and swept aside all that soft, gossamer hair to press his nose up behind the other's ear.

“ _Bastian_. I'm trying to read.”

Sebastian breathed in deeply, Ciel's scent strongest there and exhaled against his nape, arms coming down to wrap loosely around his bird-like body. Ciel clicked his tongue, mildly perturbed.

“What are you reading?” The priest asked. Ciel breathed out and Sebastian felt it in his fingertips, hand tucked up the teenager's shirt and laid flat across his fluttering chest.

“I'm reading about the Mo- _jah_ -ve,” Ciel said, not lifting his eyes. Sebastian’s jaw tensed at the naive butchering.

“Mojave,” Sebastian corrected into his throat. Ciel's body stiffened under his hands when the priest laughed quietly, chest rumbling against his taut spine.

“What?”

Sebastian pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to stifle the laughter in his chest. The book snapped shut, Ciel's finger caught between the pages as he whipped around to glare, eyes searching Sebastian's face for answers.

“Are you laughing at me, Sebastian?”

His incredulous voice made Sebastian cough. And then laugh. So hard he pressed his mouth into his palm to stifle it but Ciel's wide eyes and pissed off mouth made it worse. Ciel swat his bicep with the back of his hand, the sting ignored as the American laughed harder, and harder. Until it was involuntary and his ribs ached. Until even Ciel's haughty expression lost it's edges and he was blushing instead.

“You drive me insane,” Ciel hissed. A strand of hair hung between his eyes and over the curve of his nose. Sebastian smiled so wide it hurt, smoothed his palms up the Parisian's ribs to quell the rest of the laughter from his system, shoulders shaking with it.

“You drive _me_ insane,” he chided back. Ciel’s eyelashes kissed his cheeks as he smiled, rolling onto to his back so he was pinned between strong forearms. Sebastian brushed all his hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, laughter gone and replaced with something warm and nostalgic.

“But you love me,” Ciel murmured. The smile lingered on his pretty, clever mouth but the priest dare not ignore him.

“Yes,” Sebastian promised. He kissed Ciel’s upturned nose. He kissed his cheek. Ciel's fingers reached up and wound into his hair, bumped their mouths together for a brief second before Ciel's chin tilted away, and he huffed.

“I was trying to read about the Mo'ave,” he deadpanned, tongue skipping over the _h_ so deliberately that Sebastian grinned wildly, and it made the Parisian laugh too. He grabbed a handful of Ciel's hair and tugged it firmly, bought his chin up so he could press his mouth down, not kissing but speaking lowly onto his lips.

“Fuck the Mojave,” he declared, tightening his arms as Ciel giggled. “I'll take you there one day.”

And then Ciel sobered to give him a long, inquisitive look – eyelashes so close together they kissed. He didn't know why he said it but his chest swelled and Ciel's face softened, and his hands tucked back pieces of his black hair, breath sweet as he breathed out. With a hitched, shaking breath Sebastian realised something with startling clarity.

 _I want to marry him_.

Ciel reached up and kissed him. His small, beautiful mouth tasted like tea and opened for him when Sebastian used his hair to turn his cheek. His jaw dropped and their tongues met. It was perfect, and languid – and absolutely the wrong time to be thinking about his father, yet his words rung true in the priest's mind as Ciel reclined into the mattress and stared at him.

“ _You'll understand when you're older_.”

And Sebastian did. He understood. Every fibre of him celebrated it. Every inch of his body ached for it. He desired for his body and his hand. Sebastian's skin burnt and his heart sung, and he shook with how badly it scared him but Ciel's eye was consistent, and deep, and patient. His kiss-swollen mouth pressed together like he could feel what the priest was thinking, nothing between them but linen and skin.

“What is it?” Ciel wondered. He already knew. Had to. His legs were spread under him, could feel the desperate ache the priest had pressed to his thigh. Sebastian slipped his hands down slender sides, palms warm on ribs and a suckered stomach. He hitched Ciel’s shirt above his nipples and the American pressed a chaste kiss there, glancing up through his lashes at his future husband.

“Let's have sex,” he whispered, heart in his throat.

Ciel shivered under his hands and then he sobbed. Honest and abrupt, as desperate as the American felt. Like he'd waited an entire lifetime for this moment and it had finally arrived.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel didn't blush like an ex-whore.

He blushed like a virgin. He was pink from his cheeks to his chest, nipples hard and rosy. He blushed like a thousand fingers hadn't traced the same path Sebastian made, thumbs down into the dips of bird-like ribs and a shallow, alabaster navel. His flimsy shorts and shirt were discarded into a crumpled pile by the bed so he appeared slender and virginal beneath him. Ciel’s skin prickled and Sebastian's stomach simmered with uncontrollable jealousy.

 _Was it an act?_ Did Ciel have his pure vulnerability down to an art form? Was the American wrapped around his little finger and his supernatural bedroom eyes? The thought made him nip at his neck. Made him tug his hair so hard some strands snapped loose. The shudder Ciel made beneath him, the cut-off, startled sound was genuine enough to sedate the jealous man. To make him spread his palms out in apology and rut between his legs. Slowly. Like he could soothe him with the incessant roll of his hips.

 _Slow_. _Gentle_. _Sweet_. 

That’s how Sebastian imagined it. A thousand times he’d thought of pushing Ciel into the sheets and making their first time romantic. But it all went to hell when he curled his fingers into the meat of Ciel’s ass and the boy opened his mouth.

He didn’t moan like a virgin.

The warehouse was thick with the dirty noise of it, crying like an animal caught in a trap. His knees spread apart, face unintelligent from being rutted against. He could feel his hole pulse, beg for it, all the way through his trousers and right up against the stiff, swollen mass in his pants. The priest swallowed as Ciel's tongue wet his mouth and tried to calm himself. 

It proved impossible.

 _Slow_ , _gentle_ and _sweet_ quickly dissipated as Sebastian got his mouth over the ex-whore and ate the filthy sounds right out of him, hips jerking roughly against his slender, naked thigh. 

His palm slipped under the Parisian, grabbed handfuls of his round ass and thumbed the cheeks apart. The boy pressed back, soft sounds behind his teeth as the priest pulled him further down the mattress, index finger curling to brush the warm ring of muscle between his legs. He groaned as it throbbed against the pad of his finger.

“ _Please_ ,” Ciel breathed, and Sebastian dipped it in. The hot, tight hole milked the end of his finger and Ciel panted, already starting to fall apart.

“It's tight,” Sebastian said dumbly, watching the end of his finger hugged tight by the body he worshipped. Ciel threw his head back, throat exposed like an offering.

“Huile d'olive,” he groaned, pushing the man away. Sebastian’s heart tripped as he dashed to the kitchen, fumbling through bottles on the kitchen counter until he found the vile of olive oil. He thumbed the bottle open and shrugged out of his own shirt, tossing it on the ground with the abandoned cork.

He was so nervous that he spilt it across Ciel's thighs and all over he bedding. His finger dipped back in so easy they both gasped, Sebastian started transfixed at the stretched rim. He bumped his knuckle against it and slipped a second finger in without effort, slick from the oil. Ciel went the same hue as his swollen, pink cock, tongue touching the corner of his mouth as he frowned, staring at the American over him on his hands and knees.

“Oi,” he mumbled. His spine curled, his round ass backed down on the crook of his fingers and he shuddered despite his grit teeth.

Sebastian glanced up at him through thick eyelashes, own brow furrowed in effort. “What?”

“D-don't look at it,” Ciel breathed. He made a sound so filthy that Sebastian's hips rut forward into nothing.

“Can't help it,” the priest grunted. “Not when your legs are spread like this.” Ciel flushed pink, tried to press his slim thighs back together but third finger bumped up against Ciel's rim and he was so _desperate_ for it that it pushed right in. The teenager writhed, haughty look knocked right off his face and replaced with a pathetic, senseless expression. The American smiled privately and shoved Ciel's knees back apart.

“Does it really feel that good?” Sebastian asked smugly, curling his fingers to hit that spot that made Ciel fuck back down on his hand.

“Why don't you f-fuck yourself and find out?” Ciel stuttered from behind closed teeth, spine bent off the bed. Sebastian tongued the inside of his cheek and prodded the tight, stretched hole with a forth finger, knocking the little smile off his boyfriend's face.

“That's rude,” he chastised. He teased at the rim with his pinkie, watched the most intelligent boy in Paris succumb to a mindless, dumb thing with three, _four_ fingers up his ass.

“You f-fuck, ngh. _Uh_. Uhhh,” Ciel groaned. Stupid. His pretty mouth fell open and Sebastian was struck by how damned empty it looked. The Parisian sobbed when he slid his fingers lose, dragged them against the rim and stuffed them into the eighteen-year-old’s mouth. He sucked in air around his fingers, crooked down to pin his tongue and bristled.

“I ‘ate olive oil,” he slurred around the thick of them, eyes foggy. Sebastian laughed, tracing the back of his teeth. He pushed back until Ciel choked a little, a hot thrill of sweat down the back of the priest's neck. _This was supposed to be romantic_ , he thought to himself, cock throbbing against the confines of his trousers.

“So it's the oil you don't like,” Sebastian hummed. He thumbed over the lush swell of Ciel's lip and his free hand unbuckled his trousers. Goosebumps kissed his forearms and his hand shook as he removed his trousers. Ciel laved his tongue under his fingers like he could taste how scared he was. He dragged his thumb off the boy's mouth, pressed his warm, leaking cock into the crook of his thigh and dragged his fingers down, and down, and – 

Ciel's back arched off the bed and exposed his individuals ribs, his bellybutton. His shallow navel that Sebastian touched his slick fingers against.. His hard, untouched cock rested against the narrow of his hips. The trail it’s leaking head left on his belly as Sebastian dipped his fingers back into him without effort. Ciel trembled. The priest lowered his eyes and his stomach tightened.

“I'm nervous,” he admitted. Ducked his head to whisper it into Ciel's ear like a secret, so low it had to compete with the rain outside. Ciel's slender body tucked up against him, limbs wound around him as the lengths of their naked bodies made full contact, stuttering lungs exhaling as they pressed closer. Ciel rubbed the back of his hair.

“Me too,” he whispered back. The boy tightened his fingers into his hair, tugged him close again, and they kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel licked his teeth as he watched Sebastian fist his cock, oil streaked around his wrist from where his shaking spilt the bottle. The sound it made as he slicked his cock was wet and obscene, and Ciel's heart hammered harder.

The priest glanced up. He tugged at the linen by his cheek, breathed deeply as Sebastian's palm spread out against his lower belly and his other squeezed the base of his fat cock like he couldn't help it. Ciel's stomach lurched. He was terrified. He didn't know what to do if it didn't fit. He didn't know how else he'd quell the all-arresting need to be stuffed by the hard, frightening mass between Sebastian's legs.

Then the fat, slick tip was between his legs, and Ciel forgot how to breathe.

It was too slippery. Too wet. The end nudged up and down between his cheeks, caught once on his hole as Sebastian's shaking hands steadied the base. A deep, surprised moan punched it's way from the older man's chest.

“Ciel,” he swallowed. “Can I put it in?”

The boy wrapped his arms around Sebastian's shoulders, the last of his cologne brushed free with the boy's gentle touch. He breathed it in and fluttered his eyelashes closed.

“Yeah,” he breathed. There was silence, and then Sebastian was pushing the head of his cock past his rim, and Ciel _sobbed_.

 _It hurt_.

His legs pushed apart as Sebastian made room for himself inside Ciel's body. His arms shook where they wound tighter around his shoulders. His nails dug shallow wounds into the priest's back and the man pushed deeper. Ciel's high-pitched violent sobbing must have been enough to cut through his primal brain because he paused for a brief moment, biceps twitching with the effort of it. He nudged at Ciel's wet cheek like a worried dog.

Ciel couldn't see the ceiling for the salt in his eyes.

Tears striped down his cheeks in hot, pained streaks. His nails dug down deep into Sebastian's hair. He took the priest's weight on his chest, one leg hitched up hard between them. He could hear the horrible, crying noise coming out of him but had no way to stop it. Didn't know how to stop Sebastian either, pressing in inch by inch. Unstoppable. He couldn’t breathe around it. Ciel's body flinched and struggled to force it out of him. _Out. Out. Take it out_. And yet he couldn't shake the base, primal satisfaction of finally being filled. 

“It _‘urts_ ,” he sobbed, mouth numb. Tears dripped between his lips. Ciel rolled his head back, nauseous. Sebastian's eyes were the prettiest shade of red, clouded over like a painting and absolutely unresponsive. The American's shoulders shook. He must have been in agony for the way he shook, fingers curled in tight, unforgiving clutches on the crease of Ciel's hips. He grunted, silent and frustrated.

He hardly flinched when Ciel swatted at his chest, a damp smack as he tried to push him back. Ciel couldn't think about anything other than the throb of Sebastian stuffed inside his tight hole. He smacked at the priest again until he grunted. He grabbed both wrists and forced them high above his head. Ciel gasped, tried to tell him again to _pull it out_ but his mouth quickly crushed up against his, less of a kiss but a gag. He nipped the end of his tongue and sighed as Sebastian swallowed against it, tongue on his teeth. A warm, liquid ripple moved up his spine and made him mewl into the older man's mouth, lips coming apart with a wet smack.

“ _Mm._ Sweetheart.” 

His voice shook the same way his body did. Ciel squeezed his thighs against the American's ribs, rubbed his wet face into his salty throat. The only sound came from the damp mouth by his ear, slow and tortured breaths. Rain. And when Ciel finally glanced up he saw that Sebastian was terrified. So wrecked that Ciel's breath hitched and he used all of his strength to raise his mouth up and kiss him again, priest's fingers still tight around his wrists. The older man shivered and Ciel bumped his nose against his, weak smile on his wet maw.

“Bastian, it's okay,” he whispered. One hand tugged loose from his violent grasp and he used it to stroke the man's cheek. Their eyes caught one another's and Sebastian exhaled, pressing into Ciel's palm like a cat.

“It feels good,” the American groaned. His hips shifted and Ciel flinched, head falling back into the pillows. Sebastian's dark, charcoal eyelashes stuck together in wet clumps when he blinked and Ciel's heart skipped a beat, hummingbird-like. The priest hung his head, pressed his cheek into Ciel's cool palm and moaned like he'd died and gone to heaven. Kissed him all teeth and tongue, only breaking apart to breathe and beg.

“ _Ciel_. Please. Can I put the rest in?”

Ciel blinked, breathless and dazed. “What?”

And then Sebastian was moving again, steel shifting like machinery under the tremble of the boy's palms and he slowly, steadily rumbled back to life, hips rolling, stuttering once before pressing his cock deeper and deeper. Ciel's eyes fluttered into the back of his head, chin pressed to his chest to see the obscene sight of the priest's cock going up his ass.

He pressed until there was no more. Until the heat of his hips was seated firm against Ciel's hitched leg. Until he was bent completely over him and breathing like a drowned man. It was too deep. Deeper than Ciel had ever been fucked. The end of his cock pressed hard into his prostate, unrelenting and shifting against the nerves with every shaking breath.

“Bastian!” Ciel sobbed. He hit his head against the pillows again, lower lip quivering. His nails went to the back of the American's hair and there was only relentless pressure. A burning, horrific stretch that had his nails dig down into the priest's skin so hard they broke the surface. Sebastian grunted and rutted his hips in harder. He ground down. Ciel cried and threw his head back, ceiling a blur and Sebastian nosed his exposed neck, arm coming under his body to hold him tighter, stop him wriggling off the root of his horrifying cock.

His hips rolled deep into his guts in shaking, clumsy thrusts. Like he couldn't control himself. His pupils blew out. His arms tightened and dragged the Parisian closer to him. Ciel felt his tight rim drag on his shaft with each thrust, his fingers squeezing at the priest's bicep where he hitched his arm against the bed frame and hammered in once. Twice. The fat, wet head of his cock nudged hard against Ciel's prostate, his spine coiling up in blissful misery and he stopped breathing. The boy shuddered. 

Then he was coming so hard that his nails drew more blood from the American's shoulders and his thighs clamped together so quick they both groaned in pain. He spilt over his belly, eyes closed and moans swallowed in Sebastian's maw, suffocating sweetly on the bedsheets.

Ciel's chest heaved under the press of Sebastian's, mouth wet as he blinked. His legs spread so wide they hurt, cock wet between them. Sebastian kissed off his mouth, strand of spit between them and he smiled, slow and sexy as he fucked him through the rest of it, Ciel's fingers clinging for life on his relentless shoulders.

“Uhh. Uh. _Uh, uh_.” Ciel choked on his own spit. He felt lips on his forehead. Fingers pushing back his fringe. So gentle and sweet that Ciel let himself go lax in Sebastian's arms. His thighs went complacent. His stretched rim widened slightly. Sebastian sighed in relief, hips slapped against him in wet, steady _pats_ , olive oil sticking to the space between them.

“Hey. Ciel.”

Ciel blinked, breath caught in his throat in sheer shock of the humanity in the other's voice. Like he'd forgotten he was being fucked by a human and not a dog in rut. Ciel moved his mouth without words, head lulling to the side as Sebastian took a fistful of his hair and placed a chaste kiss against his cheek. It was the antithesis of the way he fucked him and Ciel felt his cheeks darken at the simple act, mouth fumbling for words.

“Ciel?”

With the vice-like grip gone from the thick of him, the priest started to get a feel for it, bottoming out into hard, even thrusts, making the bed shake. And although Ciel ached, although he was sobbing and raw around his cock, trembling from the overstimulation, he'd survived it. He took a small, selfish pride in the achievement.

“Yeah?” He finally mewled, hips angled back into the priest's hands and his shoulders rising slightly off the bed. The American's dick hit his prostate with no finesse, just sheer force and it made him hiccup. Made him raw and tender but his spine liquefied under him and his cock twitched against his will.

“How does it feel?” Sebastian whispered. Rain hit the window and shadows danced on the older man's skin. Ciel hiccupped, words dying on his tongue as his fingers smeared the thin line of blood on his boyfriend's back.

“Does it hurt?”

Ciel might have laughed if he could breathe. He sobbed instead, lifting his hands up to rake through the shallow wounds on the older man's back. He didn't know how to vocalise it. How much it hurt. And how much he longed for it to hurt. How the pain was the reason he was hard again, and fucking down pathetically onto his slick cock.

“Feels big,” Ciel mumbled. “I've never-“ 

His usual quick wit got fucked out of him, nothing but dumb single syllables left capable in his mouth. With one hand caught in the tangle of Sebastian's hair, the other moved shakingly between them and down between their abdomens. Sebastian's muscles grazed over his knuckles as he breathed and Ciel gasped as he just above his bellybutton he found a small swell. He rolled his thumb over it and whimpered. Sebastian tried to smother a moan but they'd both felt it. The physical strain of his hard, stiff cock protruding just beneath his navel.

“Do you -  _mm_.” The priest stopped to swallow. “Do you want me to pull it out of you?” He held impressively still while Ciel clenched around him. Ciel shook his head and his hands fell back down beside his head. His hips shifted, cock nudged something good inside and Ciel threw his head back and cried.

“ _There!_ ” His voice was raw with tears. His fingers raked down tight shoulders and undulating hips, pressing harder and faster against that one, desperate spot. Sebastian caught his eye, stared at him for a long, sobering minute and Ciel recognised the look. He'd seen it before – the look men made when they fucked. How they thought they were in love with him once they got their dick inside. But Ciel knew Sebastian already adored him, so the look simultaneously perplexed and terrified him.

He pushed in. Ground his hips in a small circle and sighed, forearms shaking either side of Ciel’s head as the teenager’s knee pressed closer to his shoulder. Ciel’s high-pitched bleating turned into low, satisfied grunts with every thrust. The priest’s cock punched deeper and the pain simmered out into warm, syrupy pleasure.

“Mm, _fuck_. Bastian.”

He felt the second it turned good. A low throb of heat in the base of his belly as the pain gave out to filthy pressure, fingers twisted in the sheets instead of Sebastian's skin, making noise like war. He rocked back on it and Sebastian shuddered, lips mouthing hotly against his cheek, his jaw.

“Love you,” he whispered. Dragged his tongue over the salty side of his throat and grabbed his hair again. Tugged in that way that made his hole clamp down and his heart skip a beat.

“Please, _‘arder_.”

Sebastian huffed, placing his arm back on the bed frame to give it how he asked for it, Ciel's thigh bent against the crook of his arm. The bed creaked as he squeezed the frame. Ciel blushed from his stomach to his face. A hand grabbed the meat of his thigh and squeezed, spread his obedient legs further apart. Sebastian’s pretty, auburn eyes locked onto the place their bodies met, obsessed with the lewd sight of Ciel stretched wide around his dick.

“I'm gonna,” Sebastian groaned. “I'm... gonna. I can't. I need-” His accent tapered out, rough and heavy.

Ciel wound his arms around his shoulders and tugged his mouth down on his lips. The man above him narrowed his eyes, clutched his hips so hard it hurt and then he was groaning, spreading his legs further apart and his hips fucking in unsteady as he spilled deep inside of Ciel. The Parisian trembled when he felt it fill him up and satisfy a primal desire he ached for. To be stuffed with cum. Sebastian's mouth crushed down against him and there was no sound as he came but the rain and the final, desperate hammers of his cock into Ciel's fucked open hole.

Ciel ran his tongue over his swollen mouth and tasted blood. His fingers twitched against his will as he smelt the warm, salty thickness of Sebastian's arm. Their eyelashes kissed. Their mouths met. Sebastian swallowed a syrupy breath and pressed his brow down to him, arms shaking either side of the Parisian's head. He looked so handsome that Ciel was aware, in the haze of his torturous bliss, that he felt fondly for the beast panting above him.

The priest finally swallowed and his eyes focused, same colour as the blood on Ciel's top lip. Still shoved against him, buried deep inside of him, he bent down and lapped the red away, groaning softly as Ciel didn't fight him, completely submissive. When he pulled up his lips were pink with it and the boy sighed, staring up at the swaying ceiling.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel shook.

His slender fingers clung to Sebastian's shoulders. His nose bled, slow and sluggish. His chest rose and fell in staggered, suffering breaths and Sebastian watched him in slow-motion, waiting for signs of trouble.

His unfocused eye blinked slowly, eyelashes thick and wet. His hands slipped down and fell across his heaving chest, mouth half-open and blood meeting his upper lip. His thighs were lax and boneless either side of him, muscles jumping in quick, nervous flinches under the skin. Sebastian ran his tongue over his lower lip and pulled back, watching Ciel's eyes go dark and his stomach tense. He made a weak, tempting sound as the priest pulled out of him, cum dribbling down his thigh. His swollen rim clamped once on nothing, not closing the entire way and it made Ciel sob lowly, fingers twitching. More wet, viscous liquid dribbled out, joining the puddle on the bed.

“ _Bastian_.”

The American hummed, palms flat and warm on the flanks of Ciel's legs like a horse, rubbing him in steady, slow strokes. His ribs came up one by one and Sebastian watched with intent interest as his hole fluttered. His body flushed hot. Ciel was spread out like prey, seed dripping out of him and bite marks on his neck. The priest grunted. Took two thick handfuls of his hips and tugged him down, back onto the head of his stiff, raw cock.

It punched a scream out of Ciel. Sebastian slipped his head out and sighed. Dipped it back in and two sharp sets of fingers dragged new wounds into his back. His cock moved in too easy. Out. Back in. The boy beneath him hiccupped and pushed his palms into his chest, a weak attempt of moving him away. Sebastian bent over his body, took his wrists in his hands and kissed him on the bloody strip between his nose and lip. The taste spurred him. Ciel tilted his head back and kissed him, sucked the taste right off his lips. Sebastian pulled him back onto his cock again, wet slap between them and rumbled out a pleased sigh, eyes glazed.

“I can't go again,” Ciel cried. He ducked away from the next kiss, blood streaked on his cheek. His body milked Sebastian's slowly, telling a different story from his mouth. The American forced his head back up to his mouth and kissed the excuses off his lips, looping his arms under his back and squeezing him so close to his body that he shuddered and stopped squirming.

“I want to be inside you forever,” mumbled the priest, vaguely aware he had said that. His spine curled with his dissipating orgasm, arms shook with the effort of another. His hips undulated automatically like a machine. Ciel sucked on the end of his tongue. When they broke apart he was frowning.

“I'm serious,” he sighed. His nails raked down Sebastian's back and he glared, lip trembling. “I can't. I'm sensitive.” He mumbled, unintelligent as his mouth said one thing and his hips said another. He rolled them back and fucked himself down on the length of Sebastian’s cock, trembling as his eyes half-lidded and then closed.

“You said you could keep up with me. That you wanted it,” the priest teased. He smiled but his heart hammered at the thought of Ciel changing his mind. At the distant fear he might have hurt him. The boy laughed rudely. He grabbed a damp chunk of the priest's hair and yanked at it, and _fuck_ , that wasn't something Sebastian knew he liked, but his cock throbbed and he almost came in that instant, tongue pressed hard to the inside of his cheek.

“I didn't know you were gonna f-fuck me this ‘ard,” Ciel grunted. He kept his mean fingers tangled in his hair and his nose bled into his mouth, 

“It was supposed to be romantic,” Sebastian smirked. He licked his lips and rolled his hips slow, jerked them up until his cock head nudged over the spot inside that made stars break out behind Ciel's eye. He moaned weakly, spine curling off the mattress and his soft, wet cock gave the faintest twitch of interest. For a moment the only sound was their deep, heavy breathing and the rain above. Sebastian looked at the boy beneath him like he were a deity, then kissed him. Dipped his tongue against the other's and moaned at the slick taste of it.

“This _is_ romantic,” Ciel insisted when they came apart. Short, clean nails trailed tenderly down the back of his spine, milk thighs spilt open and sweet either side of his heaving ribs, his undulating hips. One of Ciel's eyes was the colour of sea foam and it matched the way Sebastian’s back rolled into him like the ocean. They stared up at him with a look of complete adoration as he fucked him open, no doubt _hurt_ him, yet Ciel was watching Sebastian murder him with the most intense gaze he'd ever seen. His pretty voice hitched. His breath caught in his throat. And then, to equal surprise from the both of them, Ciel came again. 

Ciel came dry. His entire body convulsed like a seizure, flinching so hard beneath the priest that Sebastian held him down as he rode it out, mouth open in a silent scream. When he finally made a noise it was like a drowned man breaching the surface, a harsh intake of air that had him arched off the mattress, legs still spread and limber as Sebastian rolled his hips slower. Rhythmic. Keeping Ciel in place as his little body was nudged up and down the mattress, fists curled in the sheets.

He tried to speak but he was dumb. He closed his eyes and Sebastian's rhythm faltered. He groaned. The American filled him up with a staggering, satisfied moan, petite body still milking weakly. Suckling at the end of his cock. For a moment Sebastian saw nothing – one arm braced on the bed frame as he rolled with the current, pleasure rippling down his spine and turning his limbs to liquid, as he spilt inside him a second time. Ciel didn't move but he watched him come apart, hands either side of his head, stroking the American's quivering forearms. 

He had an intense desire to sleep, and when Ciel reached up for him Sebastian pressed his cheek into the touch, ready to slumber on his hands and knees. He grunted when his hair was pulled down instead, Ciel's panting mouth pressed rude into his ear, voice low and filthy enough to make him shiver.

“Take it out of me,” Ciel bit, “and don't you _dare_ put it back in.”

And with that he dropped his hair and he fell back into the bed, eyes closed and hand splayed lazily over his heaving chest. Sebastian pulled out of him, trail of semen lingering and wet on his thigh. He stayed there for a moment, struggling to catch his breath above Ciel. His seed dribbled out of him in thick, sluggish drops, the Parisian's stretched rim struggling to close up in it's wake.

“You're staring,” the teenager murmured without opening his eyes. Sebastian picked his hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. Ciel's eyes finally opened and he looked gorgeous, blinking slowly as the rain came down above them.

“That was, it was...” The priest trailed off, searching Ciel's face for the words but coming up short. His muscles still twitched in memory of it and he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. Ciel's lips curled up faintly, thumb rubbing over the American’s lower lip. Another kiss was placed on the end of his thumb and Ciel smiled with teeth, so alarming that the air came out of Sebastian's lungs and his entire body was arrested with fondness for the figure below. His smile was maddening.

“I need to clean up,” Ciel breathed, grin faltering. He moved up on his elbows but the American came down above him, nosing his hair as he flattening him back down into the sheets. He smoothed down his chest and dipped his head down to kiss at his messy, cum-streaked stomach.

“ _Oh_.”

Ciel's belly quivered under his tongue and Sebastian's body flooded with affection. He dipped the wet muscle into his navel and felt him huff as his eyelashes kissed his skin. His slender, beautiful fingers combed back the priest's ebony fringe and his back curled, hips up and thighs hitched either side of the American's throat.

“I love you,” whispered the priest, stomach clean and head dipping lower to kiss the last of it from between his hips. Ciel whimpered in reply, cord in his thigh twitching with overstimulation and Sebastian had to chew the inside of his cheek to stop him proposing right there and then. He kissed the spot below his navel, breathed him in and ducked lower. Mouthed his cock and the wet, sensitive head as Ciel let go of his hair to pull at the sheets, throat raw. Sebastian smiled between his legs, angled his jaw and rolled his tongue out and into the swollen rim of Ciel's hole, feeling it flinch down on him. He tightened his fingers in the Parisian's hips and sighed, pulled him apart and ate him out, his own cum dribbling out and onto his tongue.

“Bastian, f-fuck!” Ciel was on his elbows, knuckles whiter than the sheets. His hair was mussed and thrown across his brow and cheeks. He looked wrecked, and the priest huffed once in satisfaction, rolling his tongue in again until Ciel kicked, under surrender of his own, ruined body.

“I'm clean, I'm clean,” he chanted weakly, letting go of the sheets to fall back into them. He pressed his knees together to stop the panting American from pressing anything else into his body and he shuddered, pulling the sheets around his chest. 

“ _Oh_. _God_.” He drew the words out, eyelids fluttering. He whined lowly as he sat all the way up, hair falling down his shoulders and he tried to stand but Sebastian grabbed his arm, kept him close to the bed with insistent, warm nudges of his nose.

“Careful,” he murmured and Ciel laughed. He brushed the ends of their noses together, his upturned and feminine and Sebastian's straight and serious. 

“I’ve done this before,” he whispered back, eyebrow raised. Despite the playful smile flirting with the corner of his mouth Sebastian felt something dull and burdensome settle in his stomach. Ciel shuffled off the mattress and plucked a cigarette and a match free from the sill, fumbling with the flame as he pressed his shaking body to the barn wall and rolled the smoke back and forth between his teeth.

“Here,” Sebastian hummed. He took the match and lit it for him, Ciel flashing grateful, tired eyes over the flame. That same, jealous feeling lingered, and after Ciel inhaled, leaned back on the frame of the rain-pattered window, he finally addressed it.

“Was it okay?” Sebastian asked. He couldn't meet Ciel's eyes and instead looked out at the skyline, buildings grey and warbled in the weather. He listened to Ciel inhale again and his shoulder pressed to the glass, neck and chest littered in hungry, bruised kisses. He finally looked up and saw him staring, eyelashes dark and pretty over the smoke of his cigarette, frowning. Sebastian swallowed, heart hard.

“Are you serious?” Ciel whispered back. He didn't need to whisper. Neither of them did. It was only the three of them – Sebastian, Ciel and the warehouse. But the moment felt too fragile for either to raise their voices so Ciel hummed in that low, syrupy accent and looked thoughtfully at the city that rolled by without them. His naked legs still trembled and his cheeks filled with colour like he couldn't come down from it, mouth swollen and lovely, and wordless.

“Oh,” he muttered dumbly as Ciel pressed closer, thighs quivering with the aftershock of being fucked that hard. “Was it really that good?” 

Ciel nodded. He pressed his shaking body to Sebastian's and held his bicep in one hand, the other plucking out his smoke to hold it up for the priest who leaned in and inhaled from the end of it. When he looked up he was damp with sweat. Blushing like a ripe, dappled apple. Fucked out and gorgeous.

“I wish my first time had been like that,” he admitted, and the ugly feeling faded away when both of Ciel's eyes went glossy with tears and his dark, beautiful mouth curled up in the corners.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Trust me,” Ciel smiled. “It's twins.”

Bard's mouth tugged down, hand moving in menial circles as he chopped carrots, both boys staring at an oblivious Mey. She had one hand on the stove, stirring slowly, and the other on the smallest swell of her belly.

“It's not twins,” Bard grunted. Ciel snorted and bumped his hip against the blonde’s, tilting his chin back towards his wife.

“Look at the size of her,” he shrugged, struggling to keep his smirk concealed. Bard's eyes narrowed and his hand slowed mid-carrot, staring hard at the bump on his wife's stomach. His mouth pressed into a displeased line, spare hand drumming anxious taps into the bench.

“That's normal,” he said lowly – but his voice lacked confidence. Ciel popped the carrot into his mouth and shrugged. He didn't take his eye off Mey but could see Bard going pale in his peripheral.

“It's twins, _at least_. Didn't you say her aunt was a triplet?”

Bard huffed, dicing back into the carrots. “That shit isn't hereditary.”

Ciel smiled slowly. “It is. _Extremely_.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bard groaned, pausing his work to wipe his hand over his brow. His eyebrows met in the middle and he rubbed his stubbled jaw, visibly distressed.

“I can't have triplets in this city,” he stressed. Ciel hummed in agreement. “I can't have _one_ kid in Paris.”

Ciel nibbled at the last of the carrot in his mouth and picked up another slice, mouth coy. “I grew up here, I turned out okay.”

Bard snorted. “You're in a good mood tonight, no?”

Ciel nodded, flicking his eye towards Bard and pressing his cheek into his shoulder. His stomach erupted in butterflies and he whispered his next line.

“Me and Sebastian, we went all the way last night.”

Bard huffed, glancing sideways and rolling a toothpick between his teeth. “All the way? What are you – a teenager? _Oh wait..._ ” Ciel narrowed an eye at him and the blondes face lit up suddenly, toothpick dropping out of his mouth to hit the floor.

“Wait – he fucked you?” He said it too loud. So loud that a kitchen-hand dropped a fork and even Mey shot them an annoyed look. Ciel smacked the chef's thick, tattooed arm and blushed, pressing his face closer to his shoulder.

“Yes,” he hissed. His fingers splayed on the counter. Bard stopped chopping and turned to him fully, leaning down into his personal space.

“Well?” He urged. “What did he fuck like?” His voice was low but urgent, face serious and breathed bated. Ciel kept his hand flat on the counter and absorbed the coolness of it, exhaling slowly as he struggled to find the words.

“He didn't fuck like a virgin,” he breathed out. Bard bristled.

“What, you think he did it before?”

Ciel shook his head. “No. He's never –“ He paused to closed his eyes and swallow, palms tense on the counter. His heart crawled up into his throat. “He's never touched someone, I could tell. He was too rough.” The hairs raised on the back of his neck as he recalled. He still wore the bruises on his throat and thighs. Still struggled to walk, and sit. “He had me like an animal. Like a demon, or something.”

“Jesus,” Bard breathed. Ciel touched at his neck with the ends of his cold fingers and he trembled, eye closed against his cheek. “You're kind of fucked up, you know?”

Ciel blinked. “What?”

Bard shrugged, going back to his work as he stared out ahead, at nothing in particular. His cheeks were the faintest hue of red.

“Sometimes, when I was fucking you, if I hit it really good you'd start making these _sounds_ , Ciel. Like I was hurting you.” He paused to let the words sink in and the blood blush under the eighteen-year-old’s cheeks. 

“I didn't get like that,” Ciel lied. He knew how his mouth got when he was hot. Bard smirked, ball in his court as he stuck the end of his knife into the cutting board and wiped his palms against his apron.

“You're an anomaly,” he marvelled. “You always sounded like you were in pain when I fucked you. I really thought I was killing you, y'know? But then you'd get all crazy and you'd have the little death instead. _La petite mort_.”

Ciel exhaled slowly, staring at the back of his hands. His cheeks were warm and Bard was close, familiar smell of his cologne under his nose as his bicep brushed against his arm. The rest of the kitchen was a pretty drone and Bard's voice was baritone and lulling.

“You didn't like it?” Ciel asked, speechless of any other answer. Bard shook his head and touched the side of his arm, blue eyes focusing on his mouth, his own eye. 

“Of course I did,” he urged. Ciel's heart hiccupped. “I just couldn't keep up with that, chaton. Someone that likes pain as much as you.” His voice sounded raw with reminiscence, so close the rest of the kitchen faded to nothing and Ciel let his eye close. His heart trembled in his chest. “I didn’t like hurting you.”

Ciel stopped breathing and he stared at the diced carrot on Bard’s chopping board. His cheeks burned hot as the kitchen seemed to drone on around the pair of them.

“I think you finally met someone as demented as you, y’know?”

……………………………………………………………………………

 

It was like Sebastian had snapped.

He was on him the instant he got home, nose in his hairline and fingers plucking his bun to pieces. He mumbled something about how he smelt, like rosemary or broth, or red wine, and then his chest was against Ciel's back and his hands were hungry along the boy's narrow waistline. Consuming.

“’Ow's the new guy?” Ciel breathed, head lulled back against Sebastian's shoulder as his shirt came untucked and his belly suckered in.

“Old,” Sebastian said bluntly, far more interested in the skin of Ciel's throat than the priest who took Claude’s position. He grabbed greedily at anything he could touch, already hard. He was starving. Unstoppable. Ciel's heart skipped a beat as he dragged him easily to the kitchen, fingers already unbuttoning his trousers and combing back his hair, wavy from being tied tight for hours.

“Bastian,” Ciel gasped. He turned his head from ravenous kisses and the back of his neck was bitten, knees going weak at the animal-like act. His brain told him to push Sebastian away. That his body couldn't take it. But his heart and his gut told him to bend over the table and let the American raw him for a week. Bard was right. He was demented. He wanted Sebastian's cock rammed up inside him forever. The priest groaned and Ciel realised he'd said the last part out loud.

“The way you talk,” Sebastian groaned. Nipped his throat. Ciel's trousers were tugged to his thighs and his shirt hitched to his throat, neck wet with saliva. His hair hugged the wetness. His heart quivered. He finally pushed him where he wanted it, flat over the kitchen counter so his belly took the cool surface and his ass propped up for him.

“Like a whore?” Ciel laughed, curving his back. Sebastian's hips jerked and he watched him with dark eyes. Ciel licked his mouth, slow and deliberate, enjoying the way the priest groaned under his breath and pressed him hard against the bench top.

“You wanna fuck me?” He whispered, letting his teeth catch his lip. Sebastian nodded slowly, hips hard on his belly.

“Always used to fantasise about you touching me like this,” he admitted softly, watching Sebastian's eyes flash. His thumbs dug up under his ribs, rucked his shirt out of place.

“Thought about it too,” he whispered back. Ciel shut his eyes and trembled. The priest nipped at the back of his neck and the boy moaned, backing up on it. “Want you like this. On your belly.”

Ciel pressed his lips together and shivered as he thumbed his ass apart, staring down at it in intimidating silence. 

“Like an animal?” 

Sebastian hummed contentedly. “You're always calling me a dog. Why don’t I fuck you like one?”

Ciel couldn't bite back the excited sound he made, nails raking down the bench as he heard Sebastian unbutton his trousers. The sound of dirty words in the priest's mouth had him humping the bench top, cheeks hot and spine liquid.

“Yeah, fuck. Yes _please_.” Sebastian kissed his spine and just before Ciel sunk into a mindless, submissive mess he somehow managed to reign in the last shreds of his sanity and grabbed the collar of Sebastian’s shirt, voice dropping into a serious hush.

“Just once tonight,” he demanded. Sebastian inhaled. “Please.” The man against him stared for a second, heartbeat prominent in two places against the boy’s pinned body. Then he nodded, eyes softening in the dim lamplight of their barn.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” And the softness ebbed away like candle wax.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

He kept his promise and fucked him once.

Afterwards, when Ciel’s bones were jelly and Sebastian’s dick was still hard, the eighteen-year-old dropped to his knees in sheer gratitude and took him down his throat. He grunted at the taste. Sebastian’s hand coiled affectionately in the back of his hair and he let him fuck into his mouth until his eyelashes were fluttering. He hollowed his cheeks and drank, and drank.

And when he woke the next morning he noticed the shadows from under Sebastian’s eyes were gone, and he was still sleeping - morning light kissing the side of his cheek as he snored softly. The rain had faded out into a faint drizzle and Ciel breathed it in, laying naked on his side as the American rubbed slow, unconscious circles into his bruised hips.

“Wake up,” Ciel said quietly, tucking back black hair and exposing the other’s cheekbones. Sebastian hummed in his sleep, arms tightening around the boy’s body as he rumbled to life, eyelashes closed against the light. The boy drew the sheets up over their heads until they were hidden in their private, dappled sanctuary.

He rubbed the side of Sebastian’s face and felt the faint stubble, his jaw shift. Angling his mouth up the boy leaned in and ran his tongue over the swell of the other’s bottom lip, slow and teasing. Eyelashes touched his cheek and suddenly he was staring down into warm, dazed irises. The proximity startled him and his heart squeezed in his chest. A smile dawned slowly over the kissed, sleepy mouth and Ciel’s pulse bled out into his cheeks.

“Pretty,” the older man whispered in his low, American accent. He reached up and thumbed Ciel's mouth opened, and their noses brushed as Ciel arched up and flicked his tongue over the priest's mouth again. He hummed low in his chest as their tongues touched, head back and mouth open for the slow, slick slide of the priest's mouth over his.

“That tastes good,” Ciel muttered. His knees pressed together in the bedsheets and fine hair raised on his arms as Sebastian kissed his cheek and his ear.

“You taste good too,” he mumbled, voice low. Ciel's stomach turned. “Want to eat you,” he added, quieter. Ciel's eyelashes closed and he swallowed around the pit in his throat. The American's mouth was hot and damp next to his ear.

“You want breakfast sweetheart?” Ciel nodded and Sebastian got over him on his hands and knees, sheets over his back and draped over the pair like a tent. His stomach growled in perfect timing and Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

“Croissants?” 

Ciel nodded, wetting his mouth. The sheets were thrown back and the American was fumbling for his clothes over the side of the bed, muscles moving impressively over the boy as he watched, transfixed. He would never be unmoved by the terrible perfection of the other’s large, strong body.

“How many?”

“The entire bakery.”

Sebastian laughed, tugging Ciel up from the bed to smack his lips against his, lingering just to breathe him in. He drew the sheets down and around the Parisian’s body until they shrouded him like robes, flicking an appreciative glance down across his near-naked body.

“Okay,” he promised, and Ciel beamed. His arms wrapped around warm, sturdy shoulders and he huffed in surprise at being lifted, carried to the door with all the bedsheets trailed out behind him like a veil. They fell and crumpled to the floorboards. Sebastian took him all the way down the staircase, body rocking in his arms until he placed him by the front door, unlatching it before giving Ciel a final, firm kiss. Outside the fairy-light rain blew in and caught in the fine, long strands that hung either side of Ciel’s face.

“Be right back,” Sebastian smiled. Ciel chewed at his bottom lip and tucked his hair back behind his ear. The priest left, closed the door and the eighteen-year-old exhaled in the dimness, padding back upstairs, fingers already twitching for a cigarette. He kept the sheets bundled around him as he moved back to the bed, wading through white linen as he found his smokes and matches in the piles of shirts, pillows and books at the foot of the bed. He couldn’t wipe the dumb smile off his mouth. The barn door creaked and Ciel cocked his eyebrow, smirk already halfway to his mouth.

“That was quick,” he teased rudely, sticking his cigarette into the corner of his mouth. There was no reply. As the floorboards creaked with heavy footsteps Ciel’s smirk faltered and the hairs on the back of his neck raised. He was met with a slow, sick déjà vu and he recalled not locking the barn door behind the priest as he’d left.

He didn’t need to turn the rest of the way to know it wasn’t Sebastian.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

_Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak,_

_So sleep, silent angel,_

_Go to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry... (not sorry). Please gimme a lil kudos if you haven't already - and I'll love you till the end of time.


	20. Vingt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read the warnings. Please enter at your own risk.

Ciel had a scar on his outer knee cap.

He remembered the day he got it. It was raining, cobblestone slick like it was now. Easy to slip and fall on. Ciel had been running to escape the fat, falling rain when his leg caught on garbage stacked into the mouth of an alley. Something sharp sliced his knee, just below the hem of his shorts, and the blood trickled down in diluted, pink tendrils. His sock was black by the time he got upstairs and into Adrian's arms.

“This is what you get,” Adrian said around the needle he had pressed between his lips. The thirteen-year-old was sheepish, flinching when the undertaker dabbed alcohol onto the small but deep wound. “This is what happens when you don't listen to me.”

It was only four stitches, but Ciel cried the entire time. The needle stung from the fire. Fresh blood welled up under the prick of it and joined the trail down to his sock-less foot. Bruises blossomed on his legs from where his guardian gripped him too tight, preventing him from kicking.

Now it was just a small line, hardly longer than Ciel's fingernail. He stared at it as his knees hit the floor. His cigarette, abandoned. His bedsheets crumpled under him and around his legs like a dress. The unmistakable click of a gun aimed to his back had him drop down, knees to the ground and hands raised in surrender. Staring at the little scar on the outside of his knee.

He'd been hit. Cut. Strangled. Thrown around. But never before in Ciel's tumultuous life had he been held at gunpoint.

He made a raspy, weak noise when the barrel touched the back of his head. It might have been a sob if he weren't so terrified. His skin turned the colour of the sheets. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as the end of the gun slid from his skull to his ear. It _clinked_ once on his earring and then slipped under his chin, coaxing it up so Ciel could finally look at his captor.

 _No_. _No, no, no_.

The metallic kiss was too intimate. Ciel's heart staggered and tripped – sunk into the abyss of his stomach as every inch of him recoiled. The smell of death was bitter and nostalgic.

“Found you.”

Adrian's face was so scarred and damaged that if Ciel had been thinking rationally he might have been sickened at the thought of his beloved fists’s doing something so brutal. But instead he was staring up at the undertaker, with a gun pressed neatly to his throat.

“ _A_ -Adrian.” 

He swallowed around the lump in his throat. He willed himself to sound calm. But when he opened his mouth his lip trembled and he stuttered, over and over, like his pathetic heart.

“W-what are you d-d-doing?” He whispered. Adrian made a small, amused sound, eyes cold. Nudged the underside of his jaw with the lethal weapon like his intentions were obvious.

“I missed you,” he said, too calm. The gun stayed in place but the man came closer, fingers fondly rubbing the apple of Ciel's cheek. He tucked back Ciel's hair so tenderly that Ciel finally sobbed. The noise echoed through the barn.

“Are you scared?” Adrian asked. Ciel stared at the gun, pressing his lips into a line in hopes it might quell the miserable sounds he couldn't control. His hands still wavered in the air by his head in surrender. The undertaker crouched down next to him and trailed the gun up against the side of his head.

“Don't worry,” he coaxed, glancing at his gun. “This isn't for you.” Up close his face looked worse. The scars, but mostly the collected, emotionless look in his eyes. 

“I've got something special for you,” he promised. Then the gun was gone and a knife was to Ciel's throat. The same knife he used to cut open corpses. Ciel begun to shake so hard he could hold his arms up no longer. He pressed them to his chest as his vision blurred. “The bullet is for your dog.”

And Ciel wanted to scream, could taste the bile in his throat, because he didn't think this situation could get any worse. But it did. At the thought of Sebastian.

“Where is he?”

“We d-didn't do anything to you,” Ciel cried. The knife was cold and sharp on his neck, sharpened to slice deceased skin. The touch steeled him. His eyes narrowed at the man squatting by his side. “Why are you doing this?”

Adrian laughed. Like an involuntary, knee-jerk reaction. He wrapped his fist into Ciel's hair and pulled him close. The teenager wished he'd cut it all off, like he'd fantasised a thousand times, whenever bad men used it like a handle. He had no choice but to follow, until Adrian's mouth was as close to his ear as his knife was to his skin.

“I raised you, Ciel. You're like a son to me.” His eyes wondered downwards at his exposed body and contradicted everything he said. “I could have killed you. I could have let you burn with your mama and papa.” Ciel's face crumpled at their memory.

“But I gave you food off my table instead. Clothed you. Bathed you.” His voice began to raise and his fist tightened into Ciel's mane. “And how do you pay me back? You start selling yourself to any man with a pulse.” He stopped to swallow, arm shaking. The blade quivered on his skin.

“Imagine if your parents could see you now. You were such a smart little boy, and all you amounted to was a cheap, second-hand whore.” 

Ciel closed his eyes as the words sunk into his every fibre. He breathed in. Out. When he opened his lashes he forced himself to make eye contact. He softened his stare like he had before. He dropped his voice into a fond, familiar tone. Adrian had hurt him. But he loved him. Ciel _knew_ that. He inched his fingers to the older man's knee and touched.

“Adrian. This isn't - ”

There was a dull thud as his blade was stabbed into the floorboards, and then Adrian struck him. _Hard_. Across the face. Violent enough that his teeth connected and a startled groan left his mouth.

“Where is he?” Adrian asked again. Ciel stared at the floor and struggled to breathe.

“Pretty little thing, alone and naked in the barn,” Adrian taunted. The back of his head ached from his hair. His cheek throbbed. His neck stung. “Can't be too far away.”

“He went home,” Ciel muttered quietly. Adrian shook his head. His free hand came up and rubbed at Ciel's bottom lip.

“You've always been a bad liar,” Adrian clicked his teeth. Ciel pressed into his hand to try ease the sting of his hair. His hand curled loosely around the guardian's wrist.

“Leave him alone,” he said firmly. His heart clenched. “ _Please_. Just take me.”

Adrian shook his head just once, slowly. Ciel's reasoning was lost on him. Ciel's heart turned to rock in his chest. From where his fingers lay he could feel it - the little scar Adrian had stitched together himself.

“We're going to wait right here for him,” Adrian said, eyes flicking up to the barn door and down to his prey. The knife stayed lodged in the wood beside Ciel's leg.

“I want him to see me fuck you, and kill you.” He cupped the side of Ciel’s cheek and rubbed it lovingly. The gentle rub, and the oddly serene look in his guardian’s eyes, was enough to finally break Ciel. Tears rolled down the side of his cheeks and landed with little _pats_ on his bare legs. Adrian huffed. “I don't really mind which I do first.”

And then Ciel’s hand darted out for the abandoned knife.

In the split second it took for Ciel to wrap his hand around the knife, Adrian wound his fist once more into his hair and threw him down again. Quick. So hard his head hit the floor with a loud smack. He threw him back again. Over and over. Ciel’s teeth clacked together and the fight left his body, unwillingly pliant as his skull cracked into the wood again, and again, sharp, shooting pain throbbing on the back of his head. Blood glued his hair to the floor. It dripped down his neck. He couldn’t squirm. Couldn’t struggle. The pain arrested him and the ceiling slipped in and out of focus. Adrian sounded far away, voice distorted as if coming from under the sea.

“Don’t move.”

His voice echoed as Ciel’s hands twitched uselessly by his side. He was only aware of the pain. His fear. He couldn't move, only watch as the room span. As the dark shadow above him collected his hair into a fist once more, wet with blood and twice as sharp with the wound at the root of it. Ciel whined between his teeth as he felt the knife tugged free from the floorboards. He tried to speak but there was nothing. His head was turned to one side, cheek meeting the wet floor. 

“Hair’s gotten long,” Adrian said dully. And then Ciel heard the knife cut through the chunk of hair his guardian held, and the pain eased as it was cut free from his head.

There was nothing Ciel could do but cry. As much as he hated it. As much as he'd imagined cutting it himself over and over, Ciel's soul mourned when he watched the chunk come free and the left side of his hair was cut off, strands now brushing his jaw instead of his collarbone. He curled into himself and sobbed, face hidden in his hands. There was nothing else to do. He felt the undertaker gather the rest of his long hair into a bundle and pull it taut, cutting off his frightened gasp.

Then the lower floor’s door creaked. Closed. A hand was slapped over Ciel's mouth to keep him from screaming and he _howled_ into the palm, sound smothered. Adrian breathed against his ear, quick and sharp like a laugh. Then in time with the priest's footsteps coming up the stairs, Adrian stood and took Ciel with him until he was standing on shaking legs, sheets hanging off his hips and utterly helpless. The knife came back to his neck and Ciel stared in horror as Sebastian appeared, face paler than the bottle of milk gripped tight in his hand.

“Ciel.” 

Sebastian didn't look at him. He stared over his head at the man who held a knife to his throat, surprise slipping into an expression of murderous intent. He let go of the milk bottle, it's hard, glass base hitting the floor with a thud. Then it toppled over and the lid cracked, sending milk across the floorboards.

Adrian's chest rumbled behind his back and the knife shifted, cutting a minuscule line over the panicked rise and fall of Ciel's throat. He could feel the bedsheets slipping lower. The butchered half of his hair hung over his good eye. The longer half was matted with blood. The priest took an instinctive step closer and the undertaker went rigid, clutching tighter. 

“Don't come any closer,” he said. “Unless you want me to slit his throat.” 

He let the knife dig deeper and finally a droplet of blood fell free from his neck and rolled down his exposed chest. Sebastian went stiller than a corpse. His stare flickered from the blood and up to Adrian again. He didn't look Ciel in the eye, not once.

“It's okay sweetheart,” he said to him, staring at his captor. “I won't let him hurt you.” Ciel cried out helplessly against the palm smothering his mouth. Every movement he made drew the blade harsher against his neck. Another sticky tendril made it's way down his heaving chest. The fingers over his mouth parted and he sobbed loudly, echoing in the spacious room.

“B-Bastian, I'm sorry.” 

His own voice sounded foreign to him. The American flicked his eyes up and finally made eye contact, entire body shaking. Ciel could tell instantly why he hadn't looked at him before. The stricken look in Sebastian's eyes made Ciel panic and he thrashed, blood falling quicker and wetter. The misery on the Parisian's own face finally made the priest's determined cascade crumble.

“Let him go,” he demanded. His voice shook. When Adrian laughed against his ear it made the priest's fists coiled so tight his knuckles turned white. With one hand still cupping his chin and the other on the knife, Adrian turned Ciel's head so they could face each other, the eighteen-year-old staring up at the man he once trusted. His mouth trembled as the undertaker thumbed it apart.

“Kiss me.”

Sebastian went impossibly stiller. Ciel tried to shake his head but the blade stung him. He could do nothing but stare at the pale ends of Adrian's eyelashes as he kissed him regardless, scarred lip pressing hard on the teenagers open and terrified mouth. Sebastian made a hurt noise and Ciel finally closed his eyes, mortified. The undertaker moved back with a smack of his lips and regarded him with narrow eyes.

“Kiss me back,” he warned lowly, eyes flashing. Ciel didn't dare look at Sebastian. His heart sunk into his chest and he turned his head carefully, mouth open in the weakest offer. Adrian took it, and while the American watched on, their tongues touched, and Ciel let him plunder his mouth, arms pressed shamefully against his own chest. He took his time with the kiss. Wet. Slow. Like he needed to touch each of Ciel's teeth and he shuddered because it felt horribly wrong. When he finally kissed off his mouth with a satisfied smack, Ciel kept his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the priest, who was rigid and shaking, and absolutely helpless as he seethed.

“Take your fucking hands off him!” Sebastian shouted. His voice shook and he sounded on the verge of tears, voice cracking across the floorboards and the rafters. Like his body couldn't help it, like he moved without thought, he stepped forward and Adrian cut deeper, making Ciel yelp so sharply that the priest froze again. A fresh rivet of blood ran down his neck and Ciel felt weak at the sensation of it, covering his skin and his navel. When the blood reached his thighs he rolled his head back onto Adrian’s shoulder and he fainted.

He didn’t feel it as his legs buckled and he hit the floor. He fell forward on his elbows, head between his forearms as he slumped on the floor, naked at Adrian’s feet. The undertaker hummed in disgust, crouching down beside him.

“There’s just something about you on your hands and knees, Ciel.” The room swum. Hair hung over his face. Ciel tried to raise his head but felt bile in his throat.

“It’s your natural state, I think,” Adrian laughed. The knife returned to his neck. Ciel stopped breathing. He looked up at the priest and struggled to focus on him, vision slipping in and out of focus. His hand was out and reaching towards him, helpless but unable to move.

“You’re hurting him,” he heard Sebastian say. When the boy looked up he finally saw the look on his face. The way his nostrils flared as more blood dripped to the floor, his eyes darting between Ciel and the man kneeling above him.

“I’ve never hurt him,” Adrian grit. Ciel wanted to laugh but he sobbed loudly instead.

“You raped him,” Sebastian muttered. Even though he couldn’t move, his words resounded sharply in the big, cold room. Adrian clicked his teeth and made an amused sound under his breath.

“Is that what you told him, _sweetheart_?” 

He drawled it out slowly, mocking the way the American spoke. Ciel could feel every thud of his pulse, the sting of the blade as it pressed millimetres thicker. A wet mouth bumped against his jaw, the shell of his ear. Nudged into his earring and laughed so deep it made Ciel nauseous. Then he licked into his ear, slow and deliberate. Ciel sobbed. His cheeks burnt.

“Did you tell him about all the times you let me fuck you for free?”

Sebastian swallowed. His eyes flashed. Ciel let his vision blur with tears, fingers clenched into the bowl of his palm. 

“It doesn’t take much for Ciel Phantomhive to spread his legs,” he whispered fondly. He kissed his cheek. Cut his throat. Ciel closed his eyes and started to breath heavy, hyperventilating as his chest began to burn. “But you’d know all about that.”

And all Ciel could hear was the floor creak as the man lurched forward, stuck in suspended animation as Ciel dripped blood down onto the floor, and he began to cough. His hands went out towards Ciel, outreached and useless. His face contorted as Ciel struggled to draw air into his lungs, a thin line of blood welling in his nose and dripping out over his upper lip. Sebastian could not move, and yet he could not the ignore the innate, primitive desperation to rush forward and help the boy he loved.

“ _Ciel_.”

He opened his eyes and saw Sebastian, blurred with black. The room slipped sideways and he lost feeling in his fingers, shoulders heaving. Each cough slid the blade harder against the petal-thin skin of his neck. Each drop of blood made his chest tighter. He reached his fingers along the floor and touched the milk, rolling out in a long, cold line towards Ciel’s body. His arms finally gave out and he began to faint again, eyes rolling back as he slid forward, catching himself on the knife and dropping forward like a deadweight.

“Ciel? Ciel?!” 

Sebastian’s voice broke as he screamed, Ciel’s cheek to the wood as blood filled out his mouth, and his hair, and his chest. He wondered if he was dying. The way the American cried out for him told him that he was. The floorboards thudded. Something rushed past as his vision blurred and then there was a sound. A hard, heavy grunt as something hit the floor behind him. Ciel coughed and blood skittled out over the wood. He listened to the thuds intensify. Wet, sick sounds like fists in raw meat. Ciel turned his cheek to watch Sebastian hit him, fist pummelled into his face again, and again, and again. Like an animal. Ciel’s heart turned as the undertaker’s blood joined the floor with his own.

And when the sound stopped it was deafening. Sebastian stood with shaking fists, covered in streaks of blood. His knuckles were bust and bleeding. The American exhaled in relief when Ciel stared back at him, fingers weakly pressing at the wound on his neck to stop the bleeding. The priest said nothing as he kneeled in the puddle of blood and titled his head to inspect the wound.

“It's not v-very deep,” he said finally, and it was the first time Ciel had heard him stutter. There was a loud tear as Sebastian ripped a strip of bedding down the middle, wrapping it around his hand to make a bundle he could press to the cut. Ciel did nothing but watch. Couldn't speak. Didn't open his mouth in fear he would throw up, the ends of his fingers cold and shaking. In his peripheral Adrian lay motionless.

Sebastian moved him to the bed. He put his bloody body down on the pale bedsheets and smoothed his hair back. Ciel curled into the pillows and stared at the mess on the floor. The milk made a river straight to the middle, diluting with the blood to become pink and inky. Adrian's face was black with blood. Ciel shut his eyes as Sebastian left, moving back to the body to remove the gun tucked into his vest. The barrel clicked and Ciel flinched, eyes flying open.

“Don't!” 

It hurt to speak. His voice was sticky and raw. Sebastian stood over the undertaker, gun trained between his unconscious eyes like a man possessed. His sleeves were damp with blood. His face, murderous. His eyes narrowed and met the colour of the mess streaked across his maw. He looked like a wild animal and it made Ciel sad beyond all comparison.

“D-don't shoot him. _Please_ , Bastian. Don't. Don't,” he cried. He couldn't breathe. Sebastian wasn't looking at him. Ciel kept begging, in words he weren't sure were English, or French, or just sobbing. The gun came down and Ciel breathed in deeply through his nose. The sight of Ciel's face had Sebastian cast one last glance back at Adrian's body then he cast a worried look at Ciel.

He came to him on the bed, cupping his face as he smoothed off the blood, shaking. The gun rested by Ciel's leg, cold and solid. Tentatively, slowly, he kissed him. It was the softest, saddest kiss they'd ever shared but the taste of the American made Ciel's heart yearn, and his crying stop. He touched the man's cheeks with quivering hands, tucking his hair back behind his ear as Sebastian hung his head and pressed their brows together.

“We have to go,” he said quickly. “We can't stay here anymore.”

And the last of Ciel's resolve broke, and he started to cry again.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

“Sweetheart.”

The smell of iron was beginning to make the man nauseous. Ciel didn't reply, and when the priest looked up he was staring at the undertaker’s body. The priest grabbed a bundle of fresh linen, two of Ciel's shirts and a stack of books from the bedside, stuffing them into a buckled, leather suitcase. He packed his shoes. His documents. He found his mother's sapphire ring and bundled it in linen, pressing it inside his coat pocket. Lastly he took his gun and packed it between the rumpled, unfolded clothing in the suitcase. Adrian's gun was inside the pocket of his coat where his fingers could reach at any moment.

“Sweetheart, answer me.”

Ciel pressed his knees together, blood sticky like syrup and starting to dry. He looked murdered and the priest might have been inclined to believe he was a corpse if not for the slow, wet breathing coming from the gap between his lips. He continued to stare at Adrian, hand pressed over the wadded fabric on his neck, and tears came easy from his eyes.

“Is ‘e breathing?”

Sebastian stared at the body for a moment, face ashen.

“Yes.”

Ciel kept staring, his free hand limp and pale between the ruined bedding. He finally lifted his gaze, staring at Sebastian with a look that matched the rain outside.

“Check,” he said. Sebastian's chest clenched. Ciel's severed hair was in a thick chunk at the end of his shoe, strewn out across the floor. He had to force his legs to move, lead-legged as he came to crouch above the man who looked more dead than alive. The sight of the mess he’d made with his bare hands pained him, but not as much as the image of Ciel covered in blood. He bit the inside of his cheek to resist the innate urge to hit Adrian again, swallowing down bile to press his fingers to the sticky, swollen mess of his jaw. He crooked the tips and felt a pulse. Weak and sluggish. Like the man it belonged to.

“He's alive,” the American said quietly, lump painful in his throat. Ciel made a quiet, mournful sound. When he went back to the bedside, suitcase latched and barn pulled apart, splattered in blood and milk and memories, and all the things that would not be going with them, Ciel wasn't moving. Even when Sebastian kissed him. Even when he cleaned the blood off his lips with gentle laps of his tongue. Even when he pulled shorts up his bloody hips and bundled him in a thick, dark rug.

“I don't want to go,” Ciel said, so quietly he almost missed it. When he finally looked up and made eye contact the priest's heart broke. Ciel's face crumbled up and he looked devastated. Too young and too small.

“We can't stay here sweetheart,” he pleaded. More tears rolled down Ciel’s alabaster cheekbones and the priest wondered how many he had left.

“Please, Ciel. Us against everything, right?” He tried to stem the tears but they slipped over his thumbs. “Isn't that what you said to me?”

Ciel nodded, taking a deep breath that made him shudder, fingers reaching for Sebastian's blood-stained clothes. 

“D-desperados,’ he hiccupped. Sebastian scooped him up and pressed him into his shoulder, gathering his legs under his arm. His other hand pressed up his spine, cupping his head from where it hid beneath layers of blanket.

“That's right darling.” He bent down to grab the suitcase, Ciel pressing closer to his shirt. He hardly weighed a thing. “Desperados.”

It was mid-morning when they left the barn forever. Ciel's body was hidden from any witness but the heavy downpour provided them with secrecy. It was just them alone on the streets of Paris, nothing but each other and a suitcase. 

The priest stopped to cast one last look at the two-story building. The home they'd built for themselves despite everything. He knew Ciel was looking too, chin tucked over the American's shoulder. His heart beat like bird's wings between them.

As he turned his back, pressing a kiss into Ciel's cheek under the blanket that was quickly soaking with rain, he realised he'd not packed his cassock. His step faltered for a second and he glanced back at the barn. Ciel's breath was hot on his neck and his chest was the most perfect, comforting weight against him. 

He turned around and kept walking. He didn't need the cassocks. He wasn't going back to the church.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Blood dripped down Bard’s hallway and into the bathroom.

The fat, ruby drops diluted with condensation on green tiles and smudged over the lip of the porcelain tub, hugged by equally white fingers. Bard’s face looked the same as it had when he’d opened his door to see Sebastian and Ciel, drenched in rain and blood. All the colour had left his cheeks and his expression was ashen and tense, sleeves rolled up his elbows to stop the blood staining his shirt. 

Ciel wheezed, a sick, sticky sound escaping his mouth as Bard doused his throat with whiskey. The amber liquid washed off the blood in rust-coloured waves and Ciel screamed, jerking so violently his body squealed along the empty sides of the bathtub and Sebastian pressed himself harder into the wall.

“That ‘urts!” He yelled, and the blonde was thankful for the empty restaurant downstairs, Ciel’s voice ringing out across the tiled walls and echoing down the hall. The miasma of liquor stung his nose, made him shake as he tried to keep Ciel’s head still, wet and slippery from the water and the whiskey and the blood.

“I’m sorry pigeon,” he swallowed. Mey upended the bottle into a cloth and dabbed at the wound again, sending Ciel into a rigid line, knuckles white. He was naked bare for the linen shorts around his hips, stained on the edges and soaked translucent.

“No es tan malo,” Mey said, pressing her cloth to the wound in maternal pats. A place inside the chef swelled with pride. The rest shook with nausea. He looked over his shoulder at the priest and felt his heart break at the sight of the doused American. His face was covered in blood, hands black with it. He swallowed thickly at the sight, at the rug on the floor amongst the blood and wet dirt they’d trailed in with them. 

“She said it’s not very bad,” he told the priest, willing his voice not to tremble. Sebastian looked up suddenly, making eye contact like he hadn’t known he was there. He glanced at Ciel, his lips pressing into a terrified line and he managed a nod. Bard touched the back of his wife’s arm and whispered into her ear.

“Can you manage it?”

She nodded. Ciel’s fingers bumped against his on the bath, drawing his pinky over the back of his tattooed knuckles. The blonde drew his little hand into his own, squeezing it softly before letting it go. 

“Be strong, sparrow.” 

And then he leaned in to plant a kiss to the tangled, wet locks of hair upon his head. Mey reached over his body to twist the taps. The pipes groaned and the bath filled with cold water, sending another agonised cry from Ciel’s lips.

“Sebastian, let’s go.”

The blood washed down the drain in rivulets of amber and rust, under Ciel’s toes and off his skin. The priest took a step towards the bath, eyes uncharacteristically big. His hands touched Ciel’s hair and he pushed it back, smoothing the uneven ends off his face and behind his ear. Bard blushed as every inch of Ciel turned towards the American, like a flower to the sun, and their lips met in a messy, intimate kiss. 

Bard stared, unable to look away.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The apartment wasn’t big. 

It sat above the restaurant, and the rooms that weren’t crammed with supplies or paperwork were enough for a bedroom for him and his wife, and a spare room. It wasn’t much. A brass-framed, white-linen bed took up most of the room, lit by a narrow window that looked over the city. Rain made the room seem dull and grey. 

Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his bloody hands. The chef unbuttoned his shirt, tugging the wet fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floorboards. With a warm cloth he carefully thumbed away the blood streaking Sebastian’s face and neck. As the blood washed away to unmarred, pale skin, he realised that all of it must have belonged to Ciel, or to Adrian.

“Did you kill him?”

Sebastian raised his eyes and looked at Bard with such an expression that he expected the answer to be _yes_. Instead the priest shook his head, lowering his gaze to stare back down at the floorboards.

“If he'd cut any deeper,” Sebastian muttered. Bard paused, cloth on the side of the man's tense jaw. He opened his mouth to comfort the noirette but found he had nothing sweet to say. It was true. If he'd cut any deeper Ciel would be dead, and the two men heartbroken.

“There was nothing I could do,” Sebastian continued. Bard cleaned all the blood from his face and hairline and the priest remained oblivious, transfixed with regret. “I could only watch. Ciel needed me and I _watched_.”

His voice turned raw and hateful, and Bard turned his attention to his hands, cupping the priest's palm to examine the bruised and battered knuckles of both fists.

“I think you did more than just watch,” he said, whistling lowly.

“I had the gun aimed at his head,” Sebastian said. From down the hall a door closed with a soft click. “Ciel asked me not to do it. _Begged_ me, I didn't know what to do.”

The American made a tortured sound and tightened his shoulders, muscles rippling under his skin. He looked so devastatingly serious that the brewing storm outside paled in comparison.

“I want to kill him,” he breathed. Bard nodded. “I want to shoot him between his eyes and gut him like a fucking pig, Bard.”

The chef wet his lips and nodded again, heart pounding. “I want that too.”

The blonde exhaled, pressing his lips together as he mulled the weight of the situation over in his mind. He had a wife. _A baby_. And yet he couldn't deny the primal, urging sense of duty tugging in his gut. Ciel and Sebastian were family too.

“Do you still have the gun?” 

The American nodded. “I have his, too.”

“Good. We'll take care of this,” he paused to rub his thumb against the crest of Sebastian's cheek. “Together.”

Sebastian took in a deep breath and it trembled. His eyes flashed with intent and he pressed forward, filled out the cup of Bard's palm with his cheek.

“Breathe, Bastian. Trust me. I'm your brother, aren't I?”

Sebastian's mouth opened slightly, breath hitched.

“Brothers,” he repeated back.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel didn't speak Spanish but Mey’s words were universal.

At first she could only mutter in dismay, sleeves rolled up her warm-coloured arms and hair pulled into a knot of thick, auburn strands. Ciel stared at the freckles on the back of her arms as he sat in the tub, knees poking out of the surface with red bruises dotted across the caps.

“Dios mío,” she sighed, pressing a washcloth against his stinging cheek. Blood washed off his body and stained the water pink as she worked, shaking her head. “Qué le pasó?”

Ciel’s throat tightened as he stared at the walls of the bathroom. He felt like a child. Physically incapable of washing himself without collapsing into a quivering mess. As the auburn-haired woman cleaned his skin he realised that, despite it's quaint decor, he had never been in a room this nice before.

Mey washed his hair for him. What was left of it. He'd almost forgotten until she dabbed gently at the wound on the back of his head and came away with several locks of hair. The sight made the rest tangible – the brush of the ends against his jawline. It made him think of Adrian. It made him start to cry without sound, staring at the condensation on the walls.

“No sabía que la prostituta de mi marido era tan joven.” Mey hummed, tilting Ciel's head to rinse his hair. She appraised him with gentle eyes but her mouth turned up into that serious smile once more. Tears kept moving down Ciel's cheeks and he couldn't stop them if he tried.

“Eres solo un bebé, verdad?” She added, sympathetic. Ciel closed his eyes, unable to withstand her stare. _Bebé_ was another word that needed no translation.

And when she drained the tub and he found the strength to dry himself, she laid out loose shorts like the ones he'd stained, and a buttoned shirt to match. When he slipped them on they had the same smell as her skin and he realised they belonged to her. A pit grew in his throat as he became overwhelmed with gratitude and embarrassment.

She dressed his neck. She wound it tight. He stared at his legs as he sat on the edge of the tub, looking at the little fingernail length scar against his knee cap. The bandage itched and his hair dripped down between his bare feet. Mey took something silver off the counter, mirror fogged, and when she came back she ran a brush through Ciel’s choppy, damp hair. When he looked up he saw the scissors in her fingers and he swallowed. She snipped them once in the air.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

 _Brothers_.

Sebastian rolled the word around in his mouth, let it wash over his tongue with the Merlot the blonde had opened, and it tasted just as bittersweet. Bard stared hard at the glass tumbler in his hands, both men hunched over the empty restaurant bar. The only sound was the rain. The whistling pipes upstairs had stopped over an hour ago and it left the men in a lurching silence. Useless and waiting for action, like the chairs bent over empty tables in the eerie dining room.

The wine was hardly breakfast but Sebastian drank it like he was starved. Bard matched him glass for glass, drinking until the shaking left his fingers and the room seemed warmer. Everything seemed marginally better. And when bare feet padded down the stairs and into the deserted restaurant, Sebastian couldn’t help the dumb, drunk blush that bled out over his weary face. 

His throat hitched at the sight of Ciel. He wore all white, like the bandage around his neck and his uncovered eye. His mouth was dark like the wine, and he looked lovely despite the miserable, dull look in his eyes. And his _hair_ -

“Duchess,” Bard said loudly, barstool scraping as he stood up quickly, just as stunned. Sebastian felt stupid with the liquor, little smile working it’s way onto the corner of his mouth despite the circumstances. Ciel’s hand came to his hair and he touched the ends shyly, face downcast.

“Does it look alright?” He mumbled. Mey leaned forward on the bar behind him, self-satisfied smile on her face. She touched the back of his head and raised an eyebrow at Bard, sleeves still rolled up over her elbows.

Sebastian blushed. “You look sublime.”

He looked young. Modern. The ends of his hair sat neatly along his jawline in a blunt bob, framing his neck and making him look impossibly more slender and pretty. Sebastian’s fingers itched to touch. Bard swore. The two men stared like dumb dogs as Ciel finally drew closer, treading past the blonde and into Sebastian’s arms. He embraced his little body tight to his chest, hand resting on the top of his new hair.

Sebastian wanted to say so many things. He wanted to cry. He wanted to collapse on his knees and beg Ciel to forgive him. He wanted to swear he would never let anything like that happen again. But in the dark, empty restaurant, with the chef and his wife watching, he knew it was not the time or place. 

Instead he contented himself with kisses to the crown of his prince’s head and breathed him in, overwhelmed and grateful to be holding the deity safe in his arms, and this time not covered in blood.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

They drank.

Bard cooked. They moved to the kitchen to watch him dice onions and mushrooms, and slice beef into chunks to put into a large, simmering pot. Ciel helped to make a _beurre manie_ , kneading butter through his fingers as Sebastian watched him make a mess. His eyes were dark and gentle, softened by the liquor, but Ciel saw the way he and Bard exchanged cold glances.

They didn’t speak as the _boeuf bourguign_ simmered, making Ciel sleepy and hungry, and nostalgic all at once. Sebastian’s fingers finally found the back of his short crop of hair, carding through it in soft waves as Ciel perched on his knee. They shared the same glass of Merlot, Bard topping it off as he cooked, his own glass never empty. They continued on in silence, words desperate to be spoken, but none willing to break the fragile, dreamy atmosphere. For a moment it was enough to rest, tired and stunned by the morning’s miserable events.

“Here,” Bard said, startling him. Ciel’s hands were still dusted with flour. The blonde chef offered him a spoonful of the simmering sauce and he leaned forward to taste it. The stew made something warm blossom inside him, and for a moment everything was right and just with the world. He licked the corner of his mouth and nodded.

“Perfect,” he promised. Sebastian grabbed his chin and tilted his mouth up to kiss the taste right off his lips, still looking at him with doe-like, glassy eyes.

“Not bad,” he said, smiling. Bard’s ashen expression finally cracked as he snorted, grin breaking out over his mouth.

“You two are unbelievable,” he said with a grin, and Ciel let his head lull back against Sebastian’s shoulder, too tired, too drunk, and too content.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke in a bedroom he’d never been in before.

He could hear the sound of bristles against a washboard echoing up the narrow hallway. The taste of lunch still lingered on his mouth. His head felt heavy with wine. When he sat up on his elbows he suddenly became aware of the ache in his neck, and all the places in his body that cried in pain. His heart, especially, was the worst.

His books sat on the bedside. Sebastian’s papers and his family ring sat beside them. All their possessions had been packed into a suitcase and the rest was gone, laying useless and forgotten in the barn. Like Adrian. Ciel closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, bile in his throat.

 _Adrian_.

He pressed his palm over his mouth and inhaled shakily, tears already sitting in the corners of his eyes. A devastating wave of bitterness moved over him. His shoulders shook as he curled his legs closer to his body and hugged his chest, threatening to self combust and disappear into a burst of tears on the soap-scented bedsheets. His rattling inhalation muffled the sound of the door opening, then closing. He flinched when the bed dipped and suddenly there were fingers on the side of his face, and inky, long hair touching his cheeks.

“Darling,” the American said quietly, drawing his thumb down one side of Ciel’s cheek.

“I feel sick, Bastian.”

He felt Sebastian’s breath on his cheek. It still smelt of Merlot and his hands were warm and rough with soap suds. He pressed his nose into the shell of Ciel’s ear and nodded, cupping his cheek as he inhaled him slowly, his lungs filling like the tide drawing back from the shore. They hadn’t spoken about it. They didn’t know how. Ciel felt the man’s lips open and close against his cheek and knew he lacked the words to comfort him, so pressed his mouth into his skin instead. Ciel turned his head and met the nudging of his nose, and that sad, tortured stare.

“I don’t deserve you,” Ciel muttered. The bile in his stomach turned. Sebastian’s fingers squeezed into his jaw.

“Don’t say that.”

The pleasantest of his voice only made Ciel sadder. This close he could see the perfect line of the American’s nose. His eyelashes. His unmarred face. His throat as he swallowed, Adam’s apple dipping under the clean collar of the shirt he’d borrowed from Bard. Ciel looked and looked for something ugly. For something imperfect, but came up blank.

“I’m so sorry that I couldn’t protect you,” Sebastian said after a moment. His eyes roamed Ciel’s face like he was searching for redemption. Ciel shook his head uselessly and it ached, bandages rubbing raw and skin stinging beneath it. He must have whined. Made some pitiful, useless sound, because Sebastian stiffened, eyes flicking down to his wound.

“I should have been there. I could have -” 

He cut himself off, shaking. And that’s when Ciel saw it. 

Something ugly. 

He noticed it first in his eyes, as they darkened and flashed with hate. Then he saw it on his mouth, pressed into an angry line to match the stiff, unforgiving clutch of his hands. His body shook. His shoulders turned to rock beneath Ciel’s hands. Malice laced his pretty features and overtook everything Ciel loved. It marred his perfect, patient man into a thing of revenge, and it hurt worse than the cut on Ciel’s neck. It hurt worse than the sight of Adrian motionless on the floor of their apartment.

Like blood meeting milk it diluted the sweetness of Sebastian, and turned him messy and ruined. He brushed back all of Ciel’s hair and kissed him, pressing their mouths together as he shook, trying to smother all the discontent between them but it only fed the growing, fearful pit in Ciel’s belly.

“You know I love you,” Sebastian promised. “You know I would do anything for you.”

But all Ciel heard was the silent meaning beyond what he had said. _I would kill for you_ , is what he promised. _I would die for you_.

And when they finally went to bed that night, restaurant whispering with action up through the floorboards, Ciel laid in sheets that smelt like nothing and looked at the ceiling he didn't recognise. 

Nothing felt familiar. 

The liquor wasn't enough to make him sleepy or soften the fact that he was almost killed. It didn't disguise the memory of Sebastian aiming a gun between Adrian's eyes. It didn't make it any less real – that the man he loved had almost killed his only family. That he'd been responsible for it. The rage. The murderous intent and hatred Ciel had never witnessed on his face before. Ciel had put it there. It was Ciel's fault. He had ruined the one thing he loved.

And Ciel was unable to sleep because the bed was strange, and the sheets smelt like no one, and the man laying next to him was someone he had never met before.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

The police came at dawn.

Sebastian kept Ciel pressed to his chest, standing in the dark shadows of the hall as they watched Bard speak to the two men, arm up on the frame to stop them from coming in. The boy could feel the priest’s heart thudding under his palm. He could see how Bard chewed at the toothpick between his teeth, struggling to appear nonchalant.

“We're looking for the prostitute Ciel Phantomhive.”

Bard couldn’t stop the annoyed snort he made. “He’s not a prostitute,” he grit, voice rough with sleep. “He’s my dish hand, and I haven’t seen him in two days. He didn’t show up for work last night.”

Sebastian exhaled as the blonde lied, bringing his fingers back up to his new favourite place at the back of Ciel’s hair. He watched as the police officers exchanged a glance and looked down at the paperwork in their gloved hands.

“Do you have any idea where he could be?” They asked. Bard clicked his teeth, taking his toothpick from his teeth to roll it between thumb and forefinger.

“No,” he replied. “But did you ask that _fils de pute_ guardian of his? Heard he doesn't treat the kid right.” A pause, and Bard's voice was softer, almost a whisper. “He's only eighteen.”

One of the police shifted the weight from one leg to the other. Ciel could only half see it from where he hid, peeking out past Sebastian's shoulder. His heart was fluttering like bird wings.

“His guardian is the one pressing charges,” the cop said. Bard shook his head in annoyance. Sebastian swore quietly beside his ear, something so rough and foreign the Parisian didn't understand it. The policeman inclined his paperwork towards Bard, who snatched it in his fist and read over it, brow furrowed. He dropped the toothpick. Ciel closed his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The blonde hissed. Ciel listened to Sebastian’s pulse under the shell of his ear, letting the smell of his cologne and the warmth of his muscles take him far, far away from this place in time. He wasn't listening when Bard said it. He knew already. He felt sick. He pressed his mouth into Sebastian's shirt to muffle the sigh between his lips.

“Attempted murder,” Bard read lowly. He glared at the police like it was a joke. Like they would admit to the farce any minute. But instead they stared, eyes blank and mouths grim and nodded, taking the paper back from Bard's hand. Sebastian's fingers had gone eerily still on the back of Ciel’s neck.

“Ciel wouldn't hurt a soul,” Bard grit. His confident facade started to crumble and the stockier officer made an unimpressed sound.

“It says here he's been arrested twice for aggravated assault,” the officer said, shaking his head. He looked at his counterpart who nodded. “ _Stabbings_. Doesn't sound like he's harmless.”

Bard cast a look into the dark, towards the place where Ciel would be – if he could see him. His eyes were grey in the morning light, posture defeated. Ciel felt it too. He started to shake and Sebastian's fingers gripped his nape tighter. Without the intention to comfort him but rather to possess him. The police seemed to grow uncomfortable with the situation also, exchanging looks before folding the paperwork back into their pocket.

“Monsieur Delacroix, if you do see him,” they trailed off. Bard swallowed, thick and visible.

“Yeah,” he said shortly. He kept staring at the space between his shoes. He kept staring at that spot when they left, and when the door closed and it was dark again, just the sound of three nervous men breathing in the hall. It was Sebastian who spoke first, voice startling and serious in the shadows.

“Ciel didn't _touch_ him. It was me.”

No one said anything. Ciel kept his cheek against the taller man's chest, unwilling to leave it's warmth. Bard moved towards them in the dark, so close that Ciel smelt rosemary and wine on his clothes before he saw him. He wished he would press up against him. He wished he could be crushed against the two of them, suffocated and safe. But Sebastian only stroked his neck, in nervous circles.

“What will happen if they find him?” Sebastian asked, winding his other arm around the small of Ciel's back. It was the young Parisian who answered, looking up to make eye contact with rust-coloured eyes in the silent, empty restaurant.

“Guillotine,” Ciel muttered. Sebastian's face fell. Bard thumped his fist against the wall and swore.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel woke that night to whispering.

The space beside him was cold. A thin sliver of light illuminated a strip of bedding from the doorway, slightly ajar. Candlelight jumped through the gap and bought along with it the low, serious murmurings of two voices he knew better than the back of his own hand. Bard and Bastian, sharing secrets in the dead of the night.

In the span of two days Ciel saw shadows return under Sebastian’s eyes. His posture buckled. Bard’s hair dulled. His stubble went untouched. Both men shared looks that only fed more rocks to the weight in the teenager’s stomach. Looks that he translated and understood. Looks that were as cold and as unforgivable as the gun Ciel had found that morning, stashed away in the top draw of the dresser in their bedroom. He could still feel the cool weight of the barrel in his palm as he turned it in his hand.

And now the whispering gave him that same unpleasant sense of horror, because he knew he had a grave decision to make.

“Tomorrow night,” Sebastian said. The door creaked as he opened it a little further and Ciel closed both his eyes before the light fell over his face. “After he’s fallen asleep.”

Bard made a noise of agreement low in his chest. “It won’t take long. One shot in the back of the head and we’ll be back before he wakes.”

 _No no no no_.

It was silent for a moment and Ciel struggled not to scream. His chest ached. His entire being cried but his face was still. He could see the lamplight move over his face in dark, undecipherable shadows. He could feel two sets of eyes on his skin. He could almost hear their heartbeats and he wondered if they could hear his - quick and rabbiting with terror.

“I can’t rest until it’s done,” Sebastian said. There was a rustle of fabric and the light moved, casting Ciel back into the shadows. “I just want this to be over. I want him to be safe.”

“He will be,” Bard whispered. “Tomorrow night.”

And then there were the sound of footsteps down the hall, and the bedroom door closed with a click. Ciel listened to the priest undress, the silent weight of his shirt folded on the dresser and the creak of the bed as he laid down beside Ciel, hand instantly going to his cheek. The touch made Ciel mourn. He fluttered his eyelashes and turned into it, willing tears not to fall.

“Bastian?” He murmured, voice sticky like he’d really been sleeping. Lips pressed to his ear and they smelt of liquor again. Ciel reached up and found thick hair, and wound his hands into it so he could kiss him. The sheets rustled and Sebastian licked into his mouth slowly, nose pressed hard into his cheek.

“Did I wake you?” He whispered as they came apart, mouth wet. Ciel shook his head.

“No,” he lied. Another kiss was laid onto his mouth and this time Ciel tightened his arms around the American’s shoulders so he could hold him down, deepen the kiss until they both sighed, and hands slipped under his body and beneath the sheets. The man’s chest was solid and warm as Ciel keened up into it, fingers trailing down his spine as their mouths came apart and short, shallow pants were fed between his lips.

“God, Ciel.” He sounded hurt. Ciel kissed his mouth again and committed it to memory. Like they would never kiss again. For all he knew it might be the last time.

“Bastian, please,” he whispered. He felt the man tilt his head and draw him closer, heart thudding in his chest.

“What do you want?”

 _I want you not to kill Adrian_ , he thought. _I want you to take me far away from here and forget about what he did_. _I want you safe_. _I want you to never leave my side_.

But he pressed his lips together and drew Sebastian closer in the dark, his cologne familiar and comforting as he whispered into his ear, “I want you to sleep with me.”

And the American took him right there on the borrowed bed sheets, clothes rucked up his stomach and hands hungry on his skin. Ciel pushed him down onto the sheets and sat in his lap, hands smooth over his pectorals and abdomen, sliding down to kiss him so hard the memory would imprint itself on his mouth forever. The priest touched his skin like he were gossamer. Groaned into the shell of his ear like his touch was heaven itself. Kneaded his fingers into the fat of his hips as he held him tight and fucked up into him, mouth bumping against the place beside his ear.

And when it was over, when Sebastian fell into a sex and liquor induced slumber, Ciel had made up his mind.

He kissed him on the mouth, long and lingering. Breath hitched in his throat. He traced the line of his nose with his middle finger. He thumbed over the Cupid’s bow of Sebastian’s lip. His chest rose and fell in temperate, sweet swells and Ciel picked his fingers off his chest and kissed those too, committing every inch of skin to memory. The taste. The touch. The way he smelt when he pressed one last kiss to his head and his nose touched his hair. 

Then he pulled away before he could cry. And he took the gun from the top draw of the dresser.

……………………………………………………………………………

 

Ciel had smoked plenty of ‘last cigarettes’.

His first _last cigarette_ was when he was fourteen, and Adrian threatened to break his neck if he didn't quit on the spot. He sucked down his last smoke behind the funeral home, trying to savour the sensation with all the finesse a teenager didn't possess, whipping his head around the corner to check for his guardian, burning his fingers on the receding ash.

He’d smoked another _last_ cigarette when he caught a flu one winter, convinced he would die like the boy across the street had. Adrian collected him and burnt his slender body, eyes dull and hands quick like it wasn't a little human he had dragged in from the streets but an animal, or a slip of garbage. And one night, when the coughing became so intense and his skin prickled with fever, Ciel lay on his bed and had a smoke, blowing the billows out the cracked window and saying his goodbyes to the Parisian sky.

He had his _last_ cigarette the day he told Sebastian he loved him.

And he had his last cigarette now, as he stood across the square from his abandoned apartment and the funeral home. Ciel felt a faint tug of homesickness at the sight. He hadn’t been back in months and now he stood there in the rain with a handgun in his pocket. He inhaled the last of his smoke, stubbed it out with a hiss on the wet streets and crossed the square, eye searching for movement in either building.

He went in through the back. Years of sneaking in and out had gifted him with the silence to enter the funeral home, boots slow and careful on the creaking floorboards. He withdrew the gun when the shadows took over. Inside it was silent. There was no light. Not even from the fireplace or the morgue downstairs. With a horrid, sinking feeling Ciel realised that Adrian might have died already. He edged deeper into the house, not sure of which would be more terrifying tonight. Discovering a corpse, or creating one.

He closed his eyes and thought of Sebastian. Of Bard. Of the shadows under their eyes and the way they looked at him like glass. Like they were prepared to raise hell for him. It steadied Ciel’s hand and he snuck down the hall, pressed close to the wall so he could not be seen. The worn carpet muffled his steps as he stopped at the door of his childhood bedroom, nudging the door open with the softest creak. 

Inside it was empty. The bed was rid of linen. His possessions were gone. The window was closed and the space was void of life. The smell bought a fond, miserable feeling into Ciel’s chest, as he stood in the room he grew up in. There was no way of knowing, all those years ago, that one day he would return to kill the man that had raised him in this very room.

The view from his bedroom window was of his apartment. The side of the building was overgrown in ivy now, covering an old, painted perfume advertisement that crumbled away under years of neglect. Ciel shifted closer to stare out the window and the floor creaked under the weight of his boot. 

Then it creaked again - and Ciel realised too late that the sound hadn’t come from him.

A cloth pressed over his mouth. A chest met his back. He inhaled something like liquor, sharp and sweet, that dripped down the back of his throat as his vision went black around the edges and his body gave out. The last thing he saw was the roof of his bedroom, and then he collapsed, unconscious into solid arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slap that little kudos button and come yell at me on Tumblr.


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